he arts.

"You have a young girl living with you, about seven or eight years old,
have you not?" inquired the artist.

Peg instantly became suspicious.

"Who told you that?" she demanded, quickly.

"No one told me. I saw her in the street."

Peg at once conceived the idea that her visitor was aware of the fact
that the child had been lured away from home; possibly he might be
acquainted with the cooper's family? or might be their emissary.

"Suppose you did see such a child on the street, what has that to do
with me?"

"But I saw the child entering this house with you."

"What if you did?" demanded Peg, defiantly.

"I was about," said the artist, perceiving that he was misapprehended,
"I was about to make a proposition which may prove advantageous to both
of us."

"Eh!" said Peg, catching at the hint. "Tell me what it is and we may
come to terms."

"I must explain," said Bowen, "that I am an artist. In seeking for a
face to sketch from, I have been struck by that of your child."

"Of Ida?"

"Yes, if that is her name. I will pay you five dollars if you will allow
me to copy her face."

"Well," she said, more graciously, "if that's all you want, I don't know
as I have any objections. I suppose you can copy her face here as well
as anywhere?"

"I should prefer to have her come to my studio."

"I shan't let her come," said Peg, decidedly.

"Then I will consent to your terms, and come here."

"Do you want to begin now?"

"I should like to do so."

"Come in, then. Here, Ida, I want you."

"Yes, Peg."

"This gentleman wants to copy your face."

Ida looked surprised.

"I am an artist," said the young man, with a reassuring smile. "I will
endeavor not to try your patience too much, or keep you too long. Do you
think you can stand still for half an hour without too much fatigue?"

He kept her in pleasant conversation, while, with a free, bold hand he
sketched the outlines of her face.

"I shall want one more sitting," he said. "I will come to-morrow at this
time."

"Stop a minute," said Peg. "I should like the money in advance. How do I
know you will come again?"

"Certainly, if you desire it," said Henry Bowen.

"What strange fortune," he thought, "can have brought them together?
Surely there can be no relation between this sweet child and that ugly
old woman!"

The next day he returned and completed his sketch, which was at once
placed in the hands of the publisher, eliciting his warm a