mations of delight when they saw his
picture soon set him at ease.

'How lovely!' Dora cried. 'Did you really paint it yourself?'

'I have watched you sketching on the beach, but I never thought you were
so clever,' Elsie told him, and Willie blushed with pleasure at their
praise.

Then he opened the box on which his painting materials stood, and showed
them all the pictures and sketches he had done in the past year.

'You see, Miss,' he said to Dora, 'now I cannot get about much, it
passes the time; but I do wish I had somebody to tell me all the faults
in them, and help me to do better.'

'We must bring Father to see them; he will not be backward about
pointing out faults,' said Elsie, laughing, 'though I cannot find any
myself.'

'But Mr. Vaughan is such a great artist, he would never look at my poor
little pictures,' Willie said, flushing at the very thought.

'He may be a great artist, but he is a very kind father,' Elsie told
him, 'and he nearly always does what we ask him.'

Certainly he did not disappoint his daughters this time. Moreover, he
was amazed at the progress the boy had made with so little help, and saw
that he was worth training.

'Your son has great natural talent,' he said to Willie's mother. 'I am
even inclined to think he may be a genius. You must allow me to make it
easy for him to be trained in the best schools.'

And so poor crippled Willie, instead of being a burden to his mother,
became her pride and joy, beginning a career which was one day to make
him even more famous than the artist who had given him a helping hand.

M. H.

THE BOY TRAMP.

CHAPTER I.

The first time I saw Captain Knowlton, we were living in lodgings at
Acacia Road, Saint John's Wood. My Aunt Marion had breakfasted in bed,
and I, having nothing better to do, wandered downstairs to what our
landlady called the 'hall,' where I stood watching Jane as she dipped a
piece of flannel into her pail, and smacked it down noisily on to the
oilcloth, until there was a loud ringing of the street-door bell.

As Jane rose from her knees, rubbing her red hands on her apron, I edged
along the passage, keeping touch of the wall, and staring unabashed at
the tall, well-dressed, distinguished-looking visitor.

'Does Miss Everard live here?' he inquired.

'Yes, sir,' answered Jane.

'I should like to see her.'

'Master Jack!' cried Jane, 'do you know if your aunt has come down yet?'

But as I was on the point