ot out of life."

There was a suspicious moisture in the Herr's eyes, brought there, no
doubt, by recollections of his younger days in the Old Country, and
Aunt Betty, noticing his emotion, hastened to say:

"Then it will give us even greater pleasure, Herr Deichenberg, to
welcome you here, and we trust your visits will be neither short nor
infrequent."

"Madame, I am grateful for your kindness. No one could say more than
you have, and it may be dat I vill decide to give Miss Dorothy her
lessons in her own home, dat ve may both have de inspiration of de
pretty trees und flowers."

"Aside from the fact that I am anxious to see your studio," said the
girl, "that arrangement will please me greatly."

"It vill please me to be able to show you my studio, anyvay," said
the Herr.

"How long have you been in America?" Aunt Betty wanted to know, as
the Herr again turned toward her.

"I came over just after de Civil War. I was quite a young lad at de
time und a goot musician. I had no difficulty in finding employment
in New York City, vhere I played in a restaurant orchestra for a
number of years. Den I drifted to Vashington, den to Baltimore, vhere
I have remained ever since."

"And have you never been back across the water?" asked Dorothy.

"Yes; once I go back to my old home to see my people. Dat was de
last time dat I see my fadder und mudder alive. Now I have few
relatives living, und almost no desire to visit Germany again.
America has taken hold of me, as it does every foreigner who comes
over, und has made of me vhat I hope iss a goot citizen."

The talk then drifted to Dorothy's lessons. Herr Deichenberg
questioned her closely as to her experience, nodding his head in
grave satisfaction as she told of her lessons from Mr. Wilmot at
Deerhurst. Then, apparently satisfied that she would prove an apt
pupil, he asked to be allowed to listen to her playing. So, at Aunt
Betty's suggestion, they adjourned to the big living-room, where
Dorothy tenderly lifted her violin from its case.

As she was running her fingers over the strings to find if the
instrument was in tune, she noticed Herr Deichenberg holding out his
hand for it.

She passed it over. The old German gave it a careful scrutiny,
peering inside, and finally nodding his head in satisfaction.

"It iss a goot instrument," he told her. "Not as goot as either a
Cremona or a Strad, but by all means goot enough to serve your
purpose."

"It was a present fr