ieves in you, is it not so?"

"Yes, she does--she has always believed in me."

"Well," said the Master, with an indefinable shrug, "we must not
disappoint her. You work on like one faithful parrot, and I continue
with your instruction. It is good that mothers are so easy to please."

"Herr Kaufmann," pleaded the boy, "tell me. Shall I ever be an artist?"

"Yes, I think so."

"When?"

"When the river flows up hill and the sun rises in the west."

Suddenly, Lynn's face turned white. "I will!" he cried, passionately; "I
will! I will be an artist! I tell you, I will!"

"Perhaps," returned the Master. He was apparently unmoved, but
afterward, when Lynn had gone, he regretted his harshness. "I may be
mistaken," he admitted to himself, grudgingly. "There may be something
in the boy, after all. He is young yet, and his mother, she believes in
him. Well, we shall see!"

Lynn went home by a long, circuitous route. Far beyond East Lancaster
was a stretch of woodland which he had not as yet explored. Herr
Kaufmann's words still rang in his ears, and for the first time he
doubted himself. He sat down on a rock to think it over. "He said I had
the technique," mused Lynn, "but why should I feel sorry?"

After long study, he concluded that the Master was eccentric, as genius
is popularly supposed to be, and determined to think no more of it.
Still, it was not so easily put wholly aside. "You play like one
parrot,"--that single sentence, like a barbed shaft, had pierced the
armour of his self-esteem.

He went on through the woods, and stopped at a pile of rocks near a
spring. It might have been an altar erected to the deity of the wood,
but for one symbol. On the topmost stone was chiselled a cross.

"Wonder who did it," said Lynn, to himself, "and what for." He found
some wild berries, made a cup of leaves, and filled it with the fragrant
fruit, planning to take it to Aunt Peace.

But when he reached home Aunt Peace was far beyond the thought of
berries. She was delirious, and her ravings were pitiful. Iris was as
white as a ghost, and Margaret was sorely troubled.

"Lynn," she said, "don't go away. I need you. Where have you been?"

"To my lesson, and then for a walk. Herr Kaufmann says I may practise
there sometimes. He also suggested Doctor Brinkerhoff's."

"That was kind, and I am sure the Doctor will be willing. How does he
think you are getting along?"

She asked the question idly, and scarcely expected an ans