that I can remember quite well when my father asked me one day
what I would like to be when I was a man, I answered without a moment's
hesitation, 'An organ-grinder, of course, father.'

Those old boyish days, how long ago they seemed! What was the use of
recalling them? It would not bring back the mother I had lost, or the
father who had cared for me, and it only made me depressed to think of
them. What good, I asked myself, would my holiday do me if I spent it in
brooding over bygone sorrow? I must forget all this kind of thing, and
cheer up, and get back my spirits again.

'Now, little Jack,' I said, 'big Jack must go back to his picture; come
and climb into the old boat, and I'll see how you would do in the
foreground of it.' He looked such a merry little rogue, perched amongst
the nets and fishing tackle, that I felt I should improve my picture by
introducing him into it, and therefore from that day he came for a
certain time every morning to be painted. He was such a good little
fellow, he never moved a limb after I told him I was ready, and never
spoke unless I spoke to him. A more lovable child I never saw, nor a
more obedient one. With all his fun, and in spite of his flow of
spirits, he was checked in a moment by a single word. No one could be
dull in his company, and as the week passed on I began to regain my
usual cheerfulness, and to lose the uncomfortable impression left on my
mind by the sermon on the shore and the questions the preacher had asked
us.

[Illustration]

Chapter VI

THE TUG OF WAR

I had quite made up my mind not to attend the service on the following
Sunday, and when a pink paper floated down on my easel on the Saturday
morning, I caught it and thrust it into my pocket, without even looking
to see what the subject was to be.

'Have you got it, Mr. Jack?' said the child's voice above me.

'All right, little man,' I answered; 'it's all safe and sound.'

I made my plans for Sunday with great care. I asked for an early
breakfast, so that I might walk over to Kettleness, a place about two
miles off along the coast, and which could only be reached at low tide;
and when I was once there, on the other side of the bay, I determined to
be in no hurry to return, but to arrive at Runswick too late for the
service on the sands. If Duncan and Polly missed me, they would simply
conclude that I had found the walk longer than I had expected.

But, as I was just ready to set out fo