wer, but Lynn
turned his face away and refused to meet her eyes. "Not very well," he
said, in a low tone.

"Why not, dear? You practise enough, don't you?"

"Yes, I think so. He says I have the technique and the good wrist, but I
play like a parrot, and can only amuse. He told me to take up the
concertina."

Margaret smiled. "That is his way. Just go on, dear, and do the very
best you can."

"But I don't want to disappoint you, mother--I want to be an artist."

"Lynn, dear, you will never disappoint me. You have been a comfort to me
since the day you were born. What should I have done without you in all
these years that I have been alone!"

She drew his tall head down and kissed him, but Lynn, boy-like,
evaded the sentiment and turned it into a joke. "That's very Irish,
mother--'what would you have done without me in all the time you've
been alone?' How is the invalid?"

"The fever is high," sighed Margaret, "and Doctor Brinkerhoff looks very
grave."

"I hope she isn't going to die," said Lynn, conventionally. "Can I do
anything?"

"No, nothing but wait. Sometimes I think that waiting is the very
hardest thing in the world."

That day was like the others. Weeks went by, and still Aunt Peace fought
gallantly with her enemy. Doctor Brinkerhoff took up his abode in the
great spare chamber and was absent from the house only when there was
urgent need of his services elsewhere. He even gave up his Sunday
afternoons at Herr Kaufmann's, and Fraeulein Fredrika was secretly
distressed.

"Fredrika," said the Master, gently, "the suffering ones have need of
our friend. We must not be selfish."

"Our friend possesses great skill," replied the Fraeulein, with quiet
dignity. "Do you think he will forget us, Franz?"

"Forget us? No! Fear not, Fredrika; it is only little loves and little
friendships that forget. One does not need those ties which can be
broken. The Herr Doctor himself has said that, and of a surety, he
knows. Let us be patient and wait."

"To wait," repeated Fredrika; "one finds it difficult, is it not so?"

"Yes," smiled the Master, "but when one has learned to wait patiently,
one has learned to live."

Meanwhile, Aunt Peace grew steadily weaker, and the strain was beginning
to tell upon all. Doctor Brinkerhoff had lost his youth--he was an old
man. Margaret, painfully anxious, found relief from heartache only in
unremitting toil. Iris ate very little, slept scarcely at all, and crept
about the