h day, among the other customs of solid
citizens. They, "thank God, no longer feel obliged" to be industrious,
and to work even on a holiday.

But the dwellers in this little house were not of such a type.

On the ground-floor all possible panes in the windows had been opened,
to let as much as possible of the glowing air stream into the sunless
room; and perhaps, too, to tempt in the fragrance of the flowers, or
the notes of the flute that sounded from the window overhead. A flock
of sparrows, that seemed accustomed to make themselves at home in the
place, availed themselves of the opportunity to whirr in and out of the
garden, to flutter, chattering and scolding, about among the ivy-vines
with which one wall of the studio was thickly covered, and to hunt
through every corner for neglected crusts of bread. With all this,
however, they seemed well-bred enough to make no other trouble but
their noise--though the busts and clay models, that stood about the
room on boards and scaffoldings, showed many traces of their visits. On
the damp cloth, in which a large group that stood in the middle of the
great room was carefully wrapped, in order to keep the fresh clay from
drying, sat an old and rather decrepit-looking sparrow, who still
looked about him with an air of considerable dignity--evidently the
chief of this wild army, to whom the pleasant coolness of his seat
seemed to make it an agreeable one. He took no part in the fluttering
and chatter of the younger company, but fixed his attention with
critical gravity upon the artist in the gray blouse, who had moved his
modeling-table close to the window, and was busy in finishing from a
living model the statue of a dancing Bacchante.

The model was a young girl, hardly eighteen years old, who stood on a
little platform opposite the sculptor, and, with her arms thrown up and
backward, held fast by a rod that hung from the ceiling--for the statue
held a tambourine in the hands flung upward with such _abandon_, and
the _pose_ was none of the most comfortable. Still, the girl had borne
it a good half hour already without complaining or asking for a rest.
Although she had to hold her head far back, with its loosened auburn
hair that fell below her waist, yet she followed with intense
curiosity--her little eyes almost closed the while, so that the long
golden-blond lashes lay upon her cheeks--every movement of the artist,
every one of his critical and comparing glances. It seemed