e idea, but I know quite well it would be
puckered. Will I send back the patterns, do you think? They might be
useful for someone else."

"I think whoever sent them can very well afford to send another
selection to the next inquirer. I should not dream of wasting a stamp
on them," replied Sylvia drily, and as she spoke she pulled Pixie nearer
to her, and kissed her with a fervour which was somewhat startling to
the recipient.

"Are ye sorry for me?" she queried. "Ye needn't be, because I shall
have so much to do with the photographs that I am not disappointed a
bit. They have sent me one to paint, and if I do it to their
satisfaction they can keep me in constant work. They don't say anything
about paying, but I expect that will be settled next week. Here's the
paints, and here's the lady!"

Sylvia looked, and beheld half a dozen cheap paints such as are found in
a child's sixpenny box, a thick and a thin brush, equally common, and a
photograph of a buxom lady with a mop of tousled hair, swinging in a
hammock-chair under some trees, while a flight of marble steps led up to
a palatial mansion in the background. She read the letter, and found
that Pixie had accurately described its contents. It appeared that the
firm was in pressing need of outside help, and had practically unlimited
work to bestow upon ladies "with artistic tendencies."

Judging from the note-paper, the handwriting, and the style of the
photograph itself, the critics could not be very severe, and for a
moment Sylvia found herself wondering if by chance Pixie had indeed
found some work within her scope. She herself knew little about
painting, but after a long discussion of the different features of the
photograph, she succeeded in dissuading the youthful artist from a
somewhat violent scheme of colour, and in extracting a promise that the
completed picture should be brought across the road for her inspection
before it was despatched, for by this time Miss Munns was once more
settled at home, and the last evening of the happy visit had arrived.

Sylvia tried not to allow herself to think how quiet and dull the days
would seem with only Aunt Margaret as a companion; how hard it would be
to sit contentedly playing cribbage in the evenings, while across the
road, within a stone's-throw from the window, was this dear, bright,
homey room, full of young creatures like herself. She told herself that
she had had a happy holiday, and ought to go home