rs. Carnegie at the
time, giving her some instructions in Bessie's behalf. Mrs. Carnegie was
rather bothered than helped by their counsels, but she did not
discourage them, because of the advantage to Bessie of having their
countenance and example. Bessie, sitting apart at the farther side of
the round table, untied the string and unfolded the silver paper. Then
there was a blush, a smile, a cry of pleasure. At what? At a picture of
herself that little Christie had painted, and begged to make an offering
of. It was handed round for the inspection of the company.

"A slight thing," said Mrs. Wiley with a negligent glance. "Young
Christie fishes with sprats to catch whales, as Askew told him
yesterday. He brought his portfolio and a drawing of the church to show,
but we did not buy anything. We are afraid that he will turn out a sad,
idle fellow, going dawdling about instead of keeping to his trade. His
father is much grieved."

"This is sketchy, but full of spirit," said Lady Latimer, holding the
drawing at arm's length to admire.

"It is life itself! We must hear what your father says to it, Bessie,"
Mrs. Carnegie added in a pleased voice.

"If her father does not buy it, I will. It is a charming little
picture," said my lady.

Bessie was gratified, but she hoped her father would not let anybody
else possess it.

"A matter of a guinea, and it will be well paid for," said the rector's
wife.

No one made any rejoinder, but Mr. Carnegie gave the aspiring artist
five guineas (he would not have it as a gift, which little Christie
meant), and plenty of verbal encouragement besides. Lady Latimer further
invited him to paint her little friends, Dora and Dandy. He accepted the
commission, and fulfilled it with effort and painstaking, but not with
such signal success as his portrait of Bessie. That was an inspiration.
The doctor hung up the picture in the dining-room for company every day
in her absence, and promised that it should keep her place for her in
all their hearts and memories until she came home again.

There are not many more events to chronicle until the great event of
Bessie's farewell to Beechhurst. She gave a tea-party to her friends in
the Forest, a picnic tea-party at Great-Ash Ford; and on a fine morning,
when the air blew fresh from the sea, she and her handsome new baggage
were packed, with young Musgrave, into the back seat of the doctor's
chaise, the doctor sitting in front with his man to drive.