curve of her cheek was
like ivory. She was a Southern beauty--her little red mouth twisted awry
over her drawing.

"I thought dwawing was making pictures, Cousin Antony; if I'd have known
it was _lines_, I wouldn't have taken," said his youngest cousin.

"You have to begin with those things, old man. I'll wipe your hands off
on my handkerchief."

"Please do," said the little boy; "my hands leak awful easy."

His sister laughed softly, and said to herself in an undertone--

"I've drawn my lines long--long--ago, and now I'm making...."

"Don't make anything, Bella, until I tell you to," commanded her
teacher, and glanced over her page where she had covered the paper with
her big formless handwriting, "Dramatiss personi, first act."

"Why, I had a lovely idea for a play, Cousin Antony, and I thought I'd
just jot it down. We're the company, Gardiner and I, and we give plays
here every now and then. You can play too, if you like, and say
'Spartacus.' Ah, say it now."

Trevelyan felt the appealing little hand of the boy stealing into his.

"Do, please," he urged; "I don't want ever to draw again, never, never."

"Hush," said his sister severely, "you mustn't say that, Gardiner;
Cousin Antony is our drawing master."

Gardiner's sensitive face flushed. "I thought he was only my cousin,"
said the child, and continued timidly, "I'll dwaw a howizon now and then
if you want me to, but I'd wather not."

They left their tables. Fairfax said, "I'm no good at teaching, Bella."
He stretched his arms. "I reckon you're not much good at learning
either. Gardiner's too young and you're not an artist."

"Say about the 'timid shepherd boy,' Cousin Antony."

He had taken his coat off in the furnace-heated room and stood in his
snowy shirt sleeves, glad to be released from the unwelcome task of
teaching restless children. He loved the ring and the thrill of the
words and declaimed the lines enthusiastically.

* * * * *

"You look like a gladiator, Cousin Antony," Bella cried; "you must have
a perfectly splendid muscle."

He bared his right arm, carried away by his recitation and the picture
evoked. The children admired the sinews and the swelling biceps.
Gardiner touched it with his little fingers; the muscular firm arm,
ending in the vigorous wrist, held their fascinated gaze. The sculptor
himself looked up it with pardonable approval.

"Feel mine," said Gardiner, crimson with the exertion of