to a careful point.

He spoke English with a strong German accent. His clothes were worn
and darned in places, and wrinkled and baggy in others. But he looked
neat, and had very good manners.

He always bought two loaves of stale bread. Fresh bread was five cents
a loaf. Stale ones were two for five. Never did he call for anything
but stale bread.

Once Miss Martha saw a red and brown stain on his fingers. She was
sure then that he was an artist and very poor. No doubt he lived in a
garret, where he painted pictures and ate stale bread and thought of
the good things to eat in Miss Martha's bakery.

Often when Miss Martha sat down to her chops and light rolls and jam
and tea she would sigh, and wish that the gentle-mannered artist might
share her tasty meal instead of eating his dry crust in that draughty
attic. Miss Martha's heart, as you have been told, was a sympathetic
one.

In order to test her theory as to his occupation, she brought from
her room one day a painting that she had bought at a sale, and set it
against the shelves behind the bread counter.

It was a Venetian scene. A splendid marble palazzio (so it said on the
picture) stood in the foreground--or rather forewater. For the rest
there were gondolas (with the lady trailing her hand in the water),
clouds, sky, and chiaro-oscuro in plenty. No artist could fail to
notice it.

Two days afterward the customer came in.

"Two loafs of stale bread, if you blease.

"You haf here a fine bicture, madame," he said while she was wrapping
up the bread.

"Yes?" says Miss Martha, revelling in her own cunning. "I do so admire
art and" (no, it would not do to say "artists" thus early) "and
paintings," she substituted. "You think it is a good picture?"

"Der balance," said the customer, "is not in good drawing. Der
bairspective of it is not true. Goot morning, madame."

He took his bread, bowed, and hurried out.

Yes, he must be an artist. Miss Martha took the picture back to her
room.

How gentle and kindly his eyes shone behind his spectacles! What a
broad brow he had! To be able to judge perspective at a glance--and
to live on stale bread! But genius often has to struggle before it is
recognized.

What a thing it would be for art and perspective if genius were backed
by two thousand dollars in bank, a bakery, and a sympathetic heart
to-- But these were day-dreams, Miss Martha.

Often now when he came he would chat for a while across the showcase.