sun is always shining, and, just so sure as you live, it will
sometime shine on you. The dear God has made it so. There is so much sun
and so much storm, and we must have our share of both. It is Winter in
your heart now, but soon it will be Spring. You have had one long
Summer, and there must be something in between. We are not different
from all else the dear God has made. It is all in one law, as the Herr
Doctor will tell you. He is most wise, and he has helped me to
understand."

"But Aunt Peace!" sobbed the girl. "Aunt Peace is dead, and mother, too!
I am all alone!"

"Little lady," said the Master, very tenderly, "you must never say you
are alone. Because you have had much love, shall you be a child when it
is taken away? Has it meant so little to you that it leaves nothing?
Just so strong and beautiful as it has been, just so much strength and
beauty does it leave. There are many, in this world, who would be so
glad to change places with you. To be dead," he went on, bitterly, "that
is nothing beside one living grave! It is by far the easier loss!"

He left her and went to the window, where he stood for a long time with
his back toward her. Then Iris perceived her own selfishness, and she
crept up beside him, slipping her cold little hand into his. "I
understand," she said, gently, "you have had sorrow, too."

The Master smiled, but she saw that his eyes were wet. "Yes," he sighed,
"I know mine sorrow. We are old friends." Then he stooped and kissed
her, ever so softly, upon her forehead. It was like a benediction.

"I think," she said, after a little, "that I must go away from East
Lancaster."

"So? And why?"

Iris knit her brows thoughtfully. "Well," she explained, "I have no
right here. The house is Mrs. Irving's, and after her it belongs to
Lynn. Aunt Peace said it was to be my home while I lived, but that was
only because she did not want to turn me out. She was too kind to do
that, but I do not belong there."

"The Herr Irving," said the Master, in astonishment. "Does he want you
to go away?"

"No! No!" cried Iris. "Don't misunderstand! They have said nothing--they
have been lovely to me--but I can't help feeling----"

The Master nodded. "Yes, I see. Perhaps you will come to live with mine
sister and me. The old house needs young faces and the sound of young
feet. Mine house," he said, with quiet dignity, "is very large."

Even in her perplexity, Iris wondered why the little bird-house on the