ommence a suit, and
put you to nearly that expense to defend it; to say nothing of the
notoriety that the circumstance would occasion you. Both Walters and I are
willing to spend both money and time in defence of these children's rights;
I assure you they are not friendless."

"I'll give twelve thousand, and not a cent more, if I'm hung for it," said
Mr. Stevens, almost involuntarily.

"Who spoke of hanging?" asked Mr. Balch.

"Oh!" rejoined Stevens, "that is only my emphatic way of speaking." "Of
course, you meant figuratively," said Mr. Balch, in a tone of irony;
mentally adding, "as I hope you may be one day literally."

Mr. Stevens looked flushed and angry, but Mr. Balch continued, without
appearing to notice him, and said: "I'll speak to Walters. Should he
acquiesce in your proposal, I am willing to accept it; however, I cannot
definitely decide without consulting him. To-morrow I will inform you of
the result."

CHAPTER XXVI.

Home Again.

To Charlie the summer had been an exceedingly short one--time had flown so
pleasantly away. Everything that could be done to make the place agreeable
Mrs. Bird had effected. Amongst the number of her acquaintances who had
conceived a regard for her young _protege_ was a promising artist to whom
she had been a friend and patroness. Charlie paid him frequent visits, and
would sit hour after hour in his studio, watching the progress of his work.
Having nothing else at the time to amuse him, he one day asked the artist's
permission to try his hand at a sketch. Being supplied with the necessary
materials, he commenced a copy of a small drawing, and was working
assiduously, when the artist came and looked over his shoulder.

"Did you ever draw before?" he asked, with a start of surprise.

"Never," replied Charlie, "except on my slate at school. I sometimes used
to sketch the boys' faces."

"And you have never received any instructions?"

"Never--not even a hint," was the answer.

"And this is the first time you have attempted a sketch upon paper?"

"Yes; the very first."

"Then you are a little prodigy," said the artist, slapping him upon the
shoulder. "I must take you in hand. You have nothing else to do; come here
regularly every day, and I'll teach you. Will you come?"

"Certainly, if you wish it. But now, tell me, do you really think that
drawing good?" "Well, Charlie, if I had done it, it would be pronounced
very bad for me; but, coming from your hands, it