THEURE
HALLE, GRUSS' ICH WIEDER," her eyes looking up, her beautiful hands
outspread with pleasure.

Mrs. Kronborg laughed quite cheerfully. "Yes, wouldn't it? If father
were here, I might rouse myself. But sometimes it's hard to come back.
Or if she were in trouble, maybe I could rouse myself."

"But, dear Mrs. Kronborg, she is in trouble," her old friend
expostulated. "As she says, she's never needed you as she needs you now.
I make my guess that she's never begged anybody to help her before."

Mrs. Kronborg smiled. "Yes, it's pretty of her. But that will pass. When
these things happen far away they don't make such a mark; especially if
your hands are full and you've duties of your own to think about. My own
father died in Nebraska when Gunner was born,--we were living in Iowa
then,--and I was sorry, but the baby made it up to me. I was father's
favorite, too. That's the way it goes, you see."

The doctor took out Thea's letter to him, and read it over to Mrs.
Kronborg. She seemed to listen, and not to listen.

When he finished, she said thoughtfully: "I'd counted on hearing her
sing again. But I always took my pleasures as they come. I always
enjoyed her singing when she was here about the house. While she was
practicing I often used to leave my work and sit down in a rocker and
give myself up to it, the same as if I'd been at an entertainment. I was
never one of these housekeepers that let their work drive them to death.
And when she had the Mexicans over here, I always took it in. First and
last,"--she glanced judicially at the photograph,--"I guess I got about
as much out of Thea's voice as anybody will ever get."

"I guess you did!" the doctor assented heartily; "and I got a good deal
myself. You remember how she used to sing those Scotch songs for me, and
lead us with her head, her hair bobbing?"

"'Flow Gently, Sweet Afton,'--I can hear it now," said Mrs. Kronborg;
"and poor father never knew when he sang sharp! He used to say, 'Mother,
how do you always know when they make mistakes practicing?'" Mrs.
Kronborg chuckled.

Dr. Archie took her hand, still firm like the hand of a young woman. "It
was lucky for her that you did know. I always thought she got more from
you than from any of her teachers."

"Except Wunsch; he was a real musician," said Mrs. Kronborg
respectfully. "I gave her what chance I could, in a crowded house. I
kept the other children out of the parlor for her. That was about all I
co