ve him to-day?"

A quick flush came to Madge's cheek; she was ashamed to confess their
poverty; but after a moment she added, "I wanted to sell Raymond's
picture."

"Does Raymond like painting?"

Madge's face lit up with a sudden brightness. "Yes, yes! he loves it--he
delights in it--he says it is his life."

"Poor boy, he does not know what up-hill work it is; he thinks it is
mere fancy play, I suppose?"

"I don't think he does, sir."

"Has he ever had teaching?"

"Only a few lessons from an artist who had the down-stair rooms in the
last house where we lodged."

Mr. Smith came over suddenly, and unfastened Madge's hair; it fell in
golden ripples all over her neck. The light was shining upon it, and the
sunbeams danced about it, making it in some places to resemble--

"In gloss and hue, the chestnut, when the shell
Divides threefold to show the fruit within;"

and in others there were luxuriant masses of rich deep brown, clustering
in curls about her shoulders. For a moment the artist stood lost in
admiration; then he silently resumed his work. It was an enjoyment to
him, as Madge could see from the pleasant smile that played around his
lips, and the kindly look in his eyes, when he glanced at her; but the
poor, little, anxious sister was only longing for the time to be over,
that she might return to Raymond's side; and when at last Mr. Smith laid
down his brushes and pallette, saying, "I will not keep you longer
to-day," she sprang to her feet joyfully.

"Will you come again soon, Madge?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, if I can!"

"Well, this is for your first sitting;" and he held her out
half-a-crown. For a moment she hesitated, then she thought of Raymond,
and the nourishment he so much needed, and she took it. "And about the
picture, sir?" she asked wistfully.

"Oh, yes, about the picture," said Mr. Smith, taking it up; but at this
moment he was interrupted; the servant announced a visitor, and he had
only time to add, "I will tell you about the picture the next time you
come, little Madge; good-bye;" and then she had to go away.

Back through the dreary streets, to that dreary home; back to that
garret room, to that lonely watching, to that brother who lay so near
the borders of the grave, though Madge knew it not. How often we pass in
the crowded thoroughfare some sad suffering hearts, hurrying back to
scenes such as these; it may be that they touch us in the crowd, and yet
we kno