patient, loving little girl, who thought there
was no one in the world like Raymond, and she put out her hand and laid
it softly upon his, as if she would lay her claim to that by which his
fame was to come.

They sat in silence for some time--Raymond looking into the fire, and
thinking of his future; Madge looking at him, and wondering if she
should ever see him as famous as she felt sure he ought to be.

The door was opened suddenly, and their father came in. Even with
streaks of gray in his hair, and deep lines upon his face, Mr. Leicester
was handsome; and he had a gay, dashing air, that heightened the charm
of his appearance. He carelessly kissed Madge, and laid his hand on
Raymond's shoulder, then sat down by the fire.

"It's cold to-night, children."

"Yes, father; shall I get tea?"

"Not to-night, sweet Madge. I must be off soon; I have an engagement. I
only looked in to see how you were getting on."

"Very well," said Raymond gruffly.

"Oh! that's right; I'm glad to hear it."

There was a long pause, then Mr. Leicester said abruptly, "Raymond, lad,
I've found some work for you at last."

Raymond started. He had long ago found work for himself, and did not
want any other.

"Stephens and Johnson will shortly have a vacancy, and then you can go
to them as soon as you like."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, that they want a shop-boy."

Raymond stood up proudly. "I'm a gentleman, father."

"Come, come, never mind that. We know all that; but I don't want
heroics. You must either work or starve."

"I'm working."

"Pooh, pooh! A little desultory dabbling in painting; let me tell you,
Master Raymond, that is not my idea of work."

"But, father, I must paint; I could not live if I did not."

"Nonsense; that is all the ridiculous ideas that you get up here. When
you are shaken out in the world you will lose them."

Raymond's hands were raised to his face, and he was shivering with
excitement. Madge came to her father's side, and put one hand on his
shoulder.

"Father, Raymond is a painter. If you were to send him to a shop, he
would be a painter still. You cannot crush out what is bound up in his
heart. Is it not better for him to rise to fame by painting? Some day he
will be your glory and mine."

Mr. Leicester shook her hand off.

"You don't know what you are talking about. Little girls should hold
their tongues, and learn to be silent."

Madge shrank back immediately, and her father went on f