al when all is told. Good-by, my love to old C----,"
and Judy swung off, determined to take one of the little boats to St.
Cloud.

It was a glorious day. The water of the Seine was clear and blue; the
little boats were puffing up and down; the fishermen lined the walls and
patiently and diligently cast their hooks. Judy stood on the Pont Neuf
glad she was living; glad she was in Paris and had eyes to see it and
ears to hear it; glad of her truancy; gladdest of all when one old
fisherman actually caught a fish and she was there to behold it. She had
been told that none were ever caught, that the fishermen sat there day
after day, year after year, with never a reward for their patience. She
wandered up the quay, not certain whether she would take a boat to St.
Cloud or go to the station and catch a train for Versailles. As she
loafed along, an ogling old man joined her and with voluble
protestations assured her of his admiration of her beauty. Judy gave him
a withering glance and, quickening her pace, soon left him far behind.

"That is exactly what Papa warned me against," she thought. "He said:
'Never loaf along the streets when you are alone. Have some business to
attend to and attend to it and no one will have anything to say to you.'
I must assume some business if I have it not."

She accordingly put on an air of great purpose, grasped her sketching
kit very firmly, and went and got on a little "penny puff puff" that was
just starting out for Sevres and St. Cloud.

St. Cloud was beautiful, indeed. The sap was rising in the trees and a
few buds were showing their noses on bush and shrub. There was a haze
over everything like a tulle veil, and Judy had an idea if that would
lift, she could catch a glimpse of spring. She remembered that these
groves were the ones that Corot loved to paint and indeed the effect was
very much that obtained by that great artist: a soft, lovely, misty
atmosphere, with vistas through the trees, and an occasional glimpse of
shining water. Judy made several tiny "postage stamp" sketches. "Taking
notes from nature," she called it.

"I wish some nymphs would come dancing out now," she exclaimed. "Corot
could call them up at any time, and why not I? 'I can call spirits from
the vasty deep. And so can I, and so can any man; but will they come
when you do call them thus?'" No nymphs came, but a wedding party
appeared, the buxom bride dressed in white with a long veil and wreath
of artificial o