ver them, and she felt
sure that her Student had never before been so seriously considered.

At last Mr. Spriggs laid the drawings upon the table and fixed his
thoughtful gaze upon the artist. His contemplation of her countenance
was prolonged a good many seconds, yet Madge did not feel in the least
self-conscious; it never once occurred to her that this severe old
gentleman was thinking of anything but her Student. She found herself
taking a very low view of her work, and quite ready to believe that
perhaps, after all, those unappreciative editors knew what they were
about.

"Have you ever sent these to the _Gay Head?_" her visitor inquired
casually.

"Oh, no! I should not dare send anything to the _Gay Head!_"

"Why not?"

"Why! Because it's the best paper in the country. It would never look
at my things."

"It certainly won't if you never give it a chance. You had better try
it," he went on, in a tone that carried a good deal of weight. "You
know they can do no worse than return it; and I should think, myself,
that the _Gay Head_ was quite as well worth expending postage-stamps
on as any other paper. Mind; I don't say they'll take your
things,--but it's worth trying for. By the way," he added as he rose
to go; "I wouldn't send No. 5 if I were you; it's a chestnut."

He had picked up his hat and stood on his feet so unexpectedly that
Madge was afraid he would escape her without a word of thanks.

"Oh, please wait just a minute," she begged. "I haven't told you a
single word of how grateful I am. I feel somehow as if,--as if,--_the
worst were over!_" This time Mr. Spriggs smiled broadly.

"And you will send Noah's Dove to the _Gay Head?_"

"Yes, I will, because you advise me to. But you mustn't think I'm
conceited enough to expect him to roost there."

And that very evening the dove spread his wings,--only five of them
now,--and set forth on the most ambitious flight he had yet ventured
upon.

In the next few days Madge found her thoughts much occupied with
speculations regarding her mysterious visitor; everything about him,
his name, his errand, both the matter and the manner of his speech,
roused and piqued her curiosity. It was clear that he knew a great
deal about art. And yet, if he were an artist, she would certainly
be familiar with his name. Whatever his calling, he was sure to
be distinguished. Those judicial eyes would be severe with any
work more pretentious than that of a mere student; that