u couldn't do it, if you did have to."

"That sounds so Irish, daddy, that I think it's as bad as slang. However,
I see you are all of unsympathetic nature, so I won't confide in you
further as to my aims or ambitions."

"I haven't noticed any confidences yet," murmured Nan; "only appeals for
help."

Patty gave her a withering glance.

"The subject is dropped," she said; "let us now talk about the weather."

"No," said Hepworth; "let me tell you a story. Let me tell you of a girl
I met down South, who, if she only had Patty's determination and force of
character, might achieve success, and even renown."

"Do tell us about her," said Nan, for Mr. Hepworth was always an
interesting talker.

"She lives in Virginia, and her name is Christine Farley. A friend of
mine, down there, asked me to look at some of her drawings, and I saw at
once that the girl has real talent, if not genius."

"Of course you would know," said Nan, for Mr. Hepworth himself was a
portrait painter of high repute.

"Yes, she really has done some remarkable work. But she is poor and lives
in a small country town. She has already learned all the local teachers
can give her, and needs the technical training of a good art school. With
a year of such training she could easily become, I am sure, a successful
illustrator. At least, after a year's study, I know she could get good
work to do, and then she would rapidly become known."

"Can't she manage to do this, in some way?" asked Mr. Fairfield.

"No; she is ambitious in her work, but in no other way. She is shy and
timid; a country girl, inexperienced in the ways of the world, ignorant
of city life, and desperately afraid of New York, which to her is a name
for all unknown terrors."

"Goose!" said Patty. "Oh, I'm sorry for her, of course; but as an
American girl, she ought to have more spunk."

"Southern girls don't have spunk, Patty," said her father, with a merry
twinkle in his eye.

"Don't they! Well, I guess I ought to know! I'm a Southern girl, myself.
At least, I was until I was fourteen."

"Perhaps you've achieved your spunk since you came North, then," said
Hepworth; "for I agree with your father, Southern girls do not have much
energy of character. At least, Miss Farley hasn't. She's about nineteen
or twenty, but she's as childish as a girl of fourteen,--except in her
work; there she excels any one of her age I've ever known."

"Can nothing be done in the matter?" asked Nan.

"I