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 brink of the cliff always seemed a mansion to its owner. Quickly, he read her thought.
“I know what you are thinking,” he continued; “you are thinking that mine house is small. Three rooms upstairs and three rooms downstairs. Fredrika could sleep in mine room, and I could take the store closet back of mine shop and keep the wood for the violins at the Herr Doctor’s. Upstairs, you could have one bedroom and one parlour. Fredrika and I would come up only to eat.”
“Herr Kaufmann,” cried Iris, her heart warming to him, “it is lovely of you, but I can’t. Don’t you see, if I could stay anywhere I could stay where I am?”
It was not a clear sentence, but he grasped its meaning. “Yes, I see. But when I say mine house is large, it is not of these six rooms that I think. Have you not read in the good book that in mine Father’s house there are many mansions? So? Well, it is in those mansions that I live. I have put aside mine sorrow, and I wait till the dear God is pleased to take me home.”
“To take us home,” said Iris, thoughtfully. “Perhaps Aunt Peace was tired.”
“Yes,” answered the Master, “she was tired. Otherwise, she would have been allowed to stay. You have not been thinking of her, but of yourself.”