"You vould not want to leave her, M'riar?"

"Hi'd die, Hi would," sobbed M'riar.

Herr Kreutzer held her head back and smiled into her eyes with a good
smile which made her very happy. "Ach, liebling, do not worry."

"W'y wouldn't yer go with the toff and pl'y in ther big horchestra?"
she made bold to ask. "You'd set 'em _cryzy_, you would! _My_ 'art
turns somersets, it does, w'en you pl'ys on yer flute."

He pushed the child away, almost as if she angered him; then, seeing
her remorseful, frightened look, he took her back again and held her
close beside his knee.

"I have no love for crowds, my M'riar," he said slowly. "No; not even
in America. I have no love for crowds."




CHAPTER IV


Herr Kreutzer's little stock of money (depleted sadly by dishonest
exchange) sagged heavily in a small leather bag which he carried in a
carefully buttoned hip-pocket in his trousers. There it gave him
comfort, as, the day after he had landed in New York, it chinked and
thumped against him as he walked. There was so much of it! In this
land of gold and generous appreciation of ability, it would be far