."

"Do you think she would go with me?"

"I don't know, dear, but try it--try it to-morrow. Take her for a long
walk and get her so tired that she will sleep. Nothing rests the mind
like fatigue of the body."

"Mother," began Lynn, after a little, "are we always going to stay in
East Lancaster?"

"I haven't thought about it at all, Lynn. Are you becoming
discontented?"

"No--I was only looking ahead."

"This is our home--Aunt Peace has given it to us."

"It was ours anyway, wasn't it?"

"In a way, it was, but your grandfather left it to Aunt Peace. If he had
not died suddenly he would have changed his will. Mother said he
intended to, but he kept putting it off."

"Do you want me to keep on studying the violin?"

Margaret looked up in surprise, but Lynn was pacing back and forth with
his hands clasped behind him and his head down.

"Why not, dear?" she asked, very gently.

"Well," he sighed, "I don't believe I'm ever going to make anything of
it. Of course I can play--Herr Kaufmann says, if it satisfies me to
play the music as it is written, he can teach me that much, but he
hasn't a very good opinion of me. I'd rather be a first-class carpenter
than a second-rate violinist, and I'm twenty-three--it's time I was
choosing."

Margaret's heart misgave her, but she spoke bravely. "Lynn, look at me."

He turned, and his eyes met hers, openly and unashamed.

"Tell me the truth--do you want to be an artist?"

"Mother, I'd rather be an artist than anything else in the world."

"Then, dear, keep at it, and don't get discouraged. Somebody said once
that the only reason for a failure was that the desire to succeed was
not strong enough."

Lynn laughed mirthlessly. "If that is so," he said, moodily, "I shall
not fail."

"No," she answered, "you shall not fail. I won't let you fail," she
added, impulsively. "I know you and I believe in you."

"The worst of it," Lynn went on, "would be to disappoint you."

Margaret drew his tall head down and rubbed her cheek against his. "You
could not disappoint me," she said, serenely, "for all I ask of you is
your best. Give me that, and I am satisfied."

"You've always had that, mother," he returned, with a forced laugh.
"When you strike a snag, I suppose the only thing to do is to drive on,
so we'll let it go at that. I'll keep on, and do the best I can. If
worst comes to worst, I can play in a theatre orchestra."

"Don't!" cried Margaret; "you'll never have to do