't pity her. But, oh, if
she were only here to consult! Why did you show it to me? Why did I
have to see it?"

"Because it couldn't be helped. The thing _is_; it exists. Now what is
to be done with it?"

"I--will ask my father."

"I don't know that that is wise. It might bring about a return of his
malady, and I'm told he is improving in all respects."

"I must do it; it is his. There is no other way."

"What if it makes him worse again?"

Poor Amy! All her Christmas cheer had died from her heart. She felt that
it would be almost wicked to remind her father of this, his "life work,"
of which she had not heard him speak since he left Fairacres. Yet it was
his. He had given years to its completion, so far as it had neared that
point.

Mr. Wingate regarded her keenly. "Well?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know what to say. Have you nothing to propose?"

"Only what I did. To cut it up and sell the faces as so many small
canvases. That would partially repay me for the things he still owes
for--the paints and so on. But I detest the thing so I hate to spread
the misery of it."

"Repay you? Do you mean that you believe you have a right--you _own_
that picture?"

"Certainly."

"Why, it is the labor of--it means many years out of my poor father's
life. Can such a thing be 'owned' by anybody except him?"

"Yes, of course. Hark you. You go home and tell him what I offer. I will
take the picture off his hands and allow him--hmm--maybe two hundred
dollars; or, he can take it and owe me that much more. In any case I
want to get rid of it. I won't have it left here much longer. I shall
have other uses for this room, maybe. Anyway, I mean to get that off the
place."

Amy moved slowly toward the door. She did not know how to reply, and she
felt her cousin was a very hard, unjust man. Yet she agreed with him
that the picture was enough to make a person wish it out of sight, even
out of existence.

At the doorway he arrested her steps, by laying his hand upon her
shoulder.

"Help me down; I'm afraid of stairs. And there's another thing--that
donkey."

"Oh, yes; I had forgotten Balaam. May I ride him home? Will you have him
brought around for me?"

"Eh? What? Not so fast--not quite so fast! No, I don't mean the stairs.
I can manage this pace for them. I mean the donkey. It came here of its
own accord. It gave me an idea. If your brother wants to sell him--By
the way, how do you expect to pay the rent?"

Amy stopped sh