carefully the faces of such young girls as he met.

"Perhaps," it occurred to him, "I may get a hint from some face I see.
It is strange," he mused, "how few there are, even in the freshness of
childhood, that can be called models of beauty. That child, for example,
has beautiful eyes, but a badly cut mouth. Here is one that would be
pretty, if the face were rounded out; and here is a child--Heaven help
it!--that was designed to be beautiful, but want and unfavorable
circumstances have pinched and cramped it."

It was at this point in the artist's soliloquy that, in turning the
corner of a street, he came upon Peg and Ida.

The artist looked earnestly at the child's face, and his own lighted up
with sudden pleasure, as one who stumbles upon success just as he had
begun to despair of it.

"The very face I have been looking for!" he exclaimed to himself. "My
flower girl is found at last."

He turned round, and followed Ida and her companion. Both stopped at a
shop window to examine some articles which were on exhibition there.

"It is precisely the face I want," he murmured. "Nothing could be more
appropriate or charming. With that face the success of the picture is
assured."

The artist's inference that Peg was Ida's attendant was natural, since
the child was dressed in a style quite superior to her companion. Peg
thought that this would enable her, with less risk, to pass spurious
coin.

The young man followed the strangely assorted pair to the apartments
which Peg occupied. From the conversation which he overheard he learned
that he had been mistaken in his supposition as to the relation between
the two, and that, singular as it seemed, Peg had the guardianship of
the child. This made his course clearer. He mounted the stairs and
knocked at the door.

"What do you want?" demanded a sharp voice.

"I should like to see you just a moment," was the reply.

Peg opened the door partially, and regarded the young man suspiciously.

"I don't know you," she said, shortly.

"I presume not," said the young man, courteously. "We have never met,
I think. I am an artist. I hope you will pardon my present intrusion."

"There is no use in your coming here," said Peg, abruptly, "and you may
as well go away. I don't want to buy any pictures. I've got plenty of
better ways to spend my money than to throw it away on such trash."

No one would have thought of doubting Peg's word, for she looked far
from being a patron of t