the emotion which she had betrayed, as well as the
ridiculous figure which she had cut, she left the room abruptly, and did
not make her appearance again till the next morning.

After this little episode, the conversation turned upon Jack's
approaching journey.

"I don't know," said his mother, "but Rachel is right. Perhaps Jack
isn't old enough, and hasn't had sufficient experience to undertake such
a mission."

"Now, mother," expostulated Jack, "you ain't going to side against me,
are you?"

"There is no better plan," said his father, quietly.

CHAPTER XXII

THE FLOWER GIRL

Henry Bowen was a young artist of moderate talent, who had abandoned the
farm on which he had labored as a boy, for the sake of pursuing his
favorite profession. He was not competent to achieve the highest
success. But he had good taste and a skillful hand, and his productions
were pleasing and popular. He had formed a connection with a publisher
of prints and engravings, who had thrown considerable work in his way.

"Have you any new commission to-day?" inquired the young artist, on the
day before Ida's discovery that she had been employed to pass off
spurious coin.

"Yes," said the publisher, "I have thought of something which may prove
attractive. Just at present, pictures of children seem to be popular. I
should like to have you supply me with a sketch of a flower girl, with,
say, a basket of flowers in her hand. Do you comprehend my idea?"

"I believe I do," answered the artist. "Give me sufficient time, and I
hope to satisfy you."

The young artist went home, and at once set to work upon the task he had
undertaken. He had conceived that it would be an easy one, but found
himself mistaken. Whether because his fancy was not sufficiently lively,
or his mind was not in tune, he was unable to produce the effect he
desired. The faces which he successively outlined were all stiff, and
though beautiful in feature, lacked the great charm of being expressive
and lifelike.

"What is the matter with me?" he exclaimed, impatiently. "Is it
impossible for me to succeed? It's clear," he decided, "that I am not in
the vein. I will go out and take a walk, and perhaps while I am in the
street something may strike me."

He accordingly donned his coat and hat, and emerged into the great
thoroughfare, where he was soon lost in the throng. It was only natural
that, as he walked, with his task uppermost in his thoughts, he should
scrutinize