eople in the world," Madge replied, with
perfect gravity. "But there is not room for them."

A moment later she was working furiously, with hot cheeks and shining
eyes and breath coming faster and faster.

First she would have a soldier. Madge had always loved a soldier; her
father had been one in the great and splendid days before she was
born. Yes, a soldier must come first. And forthwith a very sketchy
warrior stepped, with a very martial air, upon the paper. Then an
artist ought to come next;--only she could not think of any way of
indicating his calling without the aid of some conventional emblem. A
mere look of inspiration might belong to a poet or a preacher as well
as to an artist. Besides which, she was by no means sure that she knew
how to paint a look of inspiration. And then it came to her that,
unless she could paint just that, her picture must be a failure; and
so she fell upon it, and began sketching in figures of old and young,
rich and poor, trying only to put into each face the eager, upward
look which should focus all, in spirit as well as in actual direction,
upon the flying, luminous figure. In some attempts she succeeded and
in some she failed. There was one old woman, with abnormally deep
wrinkles, and shoulders somewhat out of drawing, whose face had caught
a curiously inspired look; Madge did not dare touch her again for fear
of losing it. Her artist, on the other hand, the young man with the
ideal brow and very large eyes, grew more and more inane and
expressionless the more eagerly his creator worked at him.

On the whole, the production as a two-hour composition by a three-year
student was rather good than bad. When time was called Madge felt
pretty sure that she should not win the prize; she had undertaken too
much, both for the occasion and for her own ability. And yet it was
borne in upon her to-day that she was going to make a better artist
than she had ever before dared hope.

So absorbed had she been in her own work, that she had completely
forgotten Eleanor, and had not even been aware that her friend had
begun painting an hour ago. Now she turned to her with compunction in
her heart. Eleanor held her finished sketch in her hand, but her eyes
had wandered to the high, broad north window which was one great sheet
of radiant blue sky.

Eleanor's composition was very simple, but extremely well done, and in
the glance Madge was able to give it before the sketches were handed
in she s