had some clay."

Bella had already installed herself. Their tables and their boards and a
prodigal outlay of pencils and paper were in themselves inspiring.

"There is no chair high enough for Gardiner," Bella said, "but we can
build him one up out of books."

"I'd wather sit on Cousin Antony's lap," said the little boy; "built-up
books shake me off so, Bella."

Both children wore blue gingham play aprons. Fairfax told them they
looked like real workmen in a real studio, with which idea they were
much delighted.

"Gardiner looks like a charity child," said his sister, "in that apron,
and his hair's too long. It ought to be cut, but I gave my solemn word
of honour that I wouldn't cut it again."

"Why don't you go to your famous Buckingham barber?" asked the cousin.

"It's too far for Gardiner to walk," she returned, "and we have lost our
last ten cents. Besides, it's thirty-five cents to get a hair-cut."

Fairfax had placed the boy before his drawing board, and confiscated a
long piece of kitchen bread, telling Bella that less than a whole loaf
was enough for an eraser, extracted the rubber from Gardiner's mouth,
and sat down by the little boy's side.

"There's not much money in this house, Cousin Antony," Bella informed
him when the seance opened. "Please let me use the soft pencils, will
you? They slide like delicious velvet."

Fairfax made an equal division of the implements, avoiding a scene, and
made Bella a straight line across the page.

"Draw a line under it."

"But any one can draw a straight line," said Bella, scornfully, "and I
don't think they are very pretty."

"Don't you?" he answered; "the horizon is pretty, don't you think? And
the horizon is a straight line."

"Yes, it is," said Gardiner, "the howizon is where the street cars fall
over into the sunset."

"Gardiner's only six," said Bella, apologetically, "you mustn't expect
much of him, Cousin Antony."

She curled over the table and bent her head and broke her pencils one by
one, and Fairfax guided Gardiner's hand and watched the little girl. She
was lightly and finely made. From under her short red skirt the pretty
leg in its woollen stocking swung to and fro. There was a hole in the
stocking heel, visible above the tiny, tiny slipper. Through the crude
dark collar of the gingham apron came her dark head and its wild
torrent of curling hair, wonderful hair, tangled and unkempt, curling
roundly at the ends, and beneath the locks the