e. With Iris, action followed swiftly upon impulse, and she went
rapidly up the hill. Fraeulein Fredrika was out, but the Master was in
the shop, so she went in at the lower door.

"So," he said, kindly, "one little lady comes to see the old man. It is
long since you have come."

"I have been in trouble," faltered Iris.

"Yes," returned the Master, "I have heard. Mine heart has been very
sorry for you."

"It was lovely of you," she went on, choking back a sob, "to come and
play for us. We appreciated it--Mrs. Irving and I--Doctor
Brinkerhoff--and--Lynn," she added, grudgingly.

"The Herr Irving," said the Master, with interest, "he has appreciated
mine playing?"

"Of course--we all did."

"Mine pupil progresses," he remarked, enigmatically.

"Was it," began Iris, hesitating over the words,--"was it the Cremona?"

The Master looked at her sharply. "Yes, why not? One gives one's best to
Death."

"Death demands it, and takes it," said the girl. "That is why."

She spoke bitterly, and Herr Kaufmann put down the violin he was working
upon. His heart went out to Iris, white-faced and ghostly, her eyes
burning fiercely. He saw that her hands were trembling, and, moving his
chair closer, he took them both in his.

"Little lady," he said, "it makes mine old heart ache to see you so
close with sorrow. If it could be divided, I would take mine share,
because these broad shoulders are used to one heavy burden, and a little
more would not matter so much, but one must learn, even though the cross
is very hard to bear.

"It is most difficult, and yet some day you will see. You have only to
look out of your window for one year to understand it all. First it is
Winter, and the snow is deep upon the ground. All the flowers are dead,
and there are no birds. The moon shines cold, and there are many storms.
But, so slow that you can never see it, there is change. Presently, the
bare branches turn in their sleep and wake up with leaves. The birds
come back, and all the earth is glad again.

"Then everything grows and it is all in one blossom. On the wide fields
there is much grain, and all hearts are singing. Even after the frost,
everything is glad for a little while, and then, very slowly, it is
Winter once more.

"Little lady, do you not see? There must always be Winter, there must
always be night and storm and cold. It is then that the flowers
rest--they cannot always be in bloom. But somewhere on the great world
the