"I can think of no one," said the stranger, slowly, "who has a better
right to whistle it here."
The Maestro grasped the man's arm fiercely.
"Turn around!" he said. "What do you mean? What _can_ you
mean--unless--" He flung his arm suddenly before his eyes, as he met
the other's gaze.
"Martin!" he said, in a voice so low that no one but Kirk heard it. And
they stood there, quite still in the pale September sunset--the Maestro
with his arm across his eyes; the mate of the _Celestine_ with his hands
clasped behind him and his lips still shaping the tune of the song his
father had made for him.
Ken, within the room, swung Kirk into his arms.
"The library door's open," he whispered to Felicia. "_Cut_--as fast as
ever you can!"
The little living-room of Applegate Farm bloomed once more into firelit
warmth. It seemed almost to hold forth, kindly welcoming arms to its
children, together again.
"What shall we talk about first?" Felicia sighed, sinking into the
hearth chair, with Kirk on her lap. "I never _knew_ so many wildly
exciting things to happen all at once!"
It came about, of course, that they talked first of Kirk; but his
adventures went hand in hand with the other adventure, and the talk flew
back and forth between the _Flying Dutchman_ and the _Celestine_, Kirk
and Mr. Martin--or Martin, the Maestro's son.
"And it was the same old _Celestine_!" Ken marveled; "that's the queer
part.
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