ad Madge's eyes; but no one in that wondering throng knew that.
They were saying how well the workman's dress and the tools which he
carried were done.

[Illustration: BUSY FINGERS.]

Madge went into the shop. Mr. Jeffery was talking to a gentleman who
stood by the counter; but he turned to serve her as soon as she
appeared.

She laid down her money and took her tiny parcel, then said
falteringly, while the colour came into her pale cheeks, "Please, sir,
is my brother's picture sold yet?"

"No, my dear, nor likely to be," said Mr. Jeffery, laughing.

"Poor Raymond," thought Madge, and as she turned away, she raised her
hand to brush away the tears which filled her eyes.

The gentleman who had been standing, now stepped forward and opened the
door for the little girl to go out.

She raised her face timidly and said, "Thank you, sir," in a soft, low
tone, then hurried off without trusting herself again to look in at the
shop window.

"Who's that, Jeffery?"

"A little girl who comes here very often, sir. Her brother paints a
little, and he's left a picture here to try and get it sold."

"I should like to have her hair and eyes for a model," the artist said.
"Jeffery, if that child comes again send her up to me; she would exactly
do for my Ruth."

But it was many and many a long day before little Madge came to that
shop again.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II.

THE RESOLVE.

That same evening, when it was too dark for Raymond to paint, he and
Madge sat by the fire talking.

"It's not much good trying any more; is it, Raymond?"

"Trying what?"

"Why, your painting, to be sure."

"Nonsense, Madge, I must paint; it's my life to paint."

Madge gave a long deep sigh, too long and deep for a child of her age.

"Raymond, what's _my_ life?"

"Woman's life is to glory in man," said Raymond grandly.

"Oh!" said Madge, with an unbelieving laugh, "there's more than that in
it; there's a great deal of work, too, I can assure you."

"I daresay," Raymond answered carelessly; "but, Madge, you must never
talk of my giving up painting, because I should die if I did."

"Should you? O Raymond, don't."

"No, I won't until I have done something great--something to make you
proud of me--something which shall make my name to be remembered;" and
the boy's eyes flashed now, but it was too dark for any one to see it.

Madge liked to hear him say these kind of things, though she was not an
artist herself, only a