ou think of that? Don't you see it's the
corner of the orchard there, with all the thistles and docks and wild
flowers?"

"Well, to be sure! Fancy anyone a paintin' them weeds and trumpery!" and
with that cheerless remark the old fellow sheered off.

[Illustration: MODELLING A MILKMAID.]

Sculptors, unlike painters, rarely venture out of their studios, but it
happened that a sculptor came down to spend a few days with us when in a
Norfolk village, and so liked the place that he hired a barn, had a lot
of clay and a turntable sent down, and started modelling a milkmaid. As
the work progressed, it became the talk of the place, and, in due
course, numbers came to see the clay image that my friend was setting up
in the barn. This work _did_ appeal to them. They could see at a glance
what it was meant to represent, and the chorus of approval was loud and
general, except on the part of the village constable. He was a taciturn
man, and used to come and smoke his pipe and preserve a contemptuous
silence. One day he said--

"Are you making that image for a church?"

"No. Why did you think I was?"

"Oh, nothing. Only when I was in London, and that's a smart while ago, I
worked on a church as was a buildin', and we had to fix some figures;
only they were made in what we calls Portland cement."

[Illustration: NUMBERS CAME TO SEE THE CLAY IMAGE.]

"Oh, then, you have seen sculpture before?"

"Yes, sir, 'tain't the first time as I've seed a graven image, as the
Bible calls 'em. D'yer ever make them figures they puts over doors and
winders of houses?"

"No; I can't say I do."

"Did you ever see them two figures in the Lord Mayor's palace in the
City? You _ought_ to see them, sir. I reckon they're the best things in
that line you can see anywhere?"

"I'm afraid I don't remember which figures you refer to."

"Oh, they ain't like your work, not a little bit. They're picked out in
all kinds of colours, and are ever so big. I was thinking they must
represent two of them heathen gods what the Children of Israel fell down
and worshipped. You know the figures I mean?"

"I'm afraid I don't. Can't you remember their names?"

"Why, Gog and Magog, aren't they, sir?"

[Illustration: THE VILLAGE CONSTABLE.]

_The Brothers' Agency._

BY DO BAHIN.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE MISSES HAMMOND.

-----

"She won't see you, my boy," said Grigsby, as I stood on the steps of
the Scandalmongers' Club waiting for the