,
I hold the brain of my head!
How it ticks, ticks, ticks,
'What does it mean?' I cried.
'What is it all about?
Why is it out?
Why was it ever inside?
I don't understand.'"

"I don't understand," said Rollo.

"Of course you don't," cried Miss Stark. "We none of us do. We were
just meant to live quietly and simply near Mother Earth. But you must
come again. I am sorry you will not stay. Good-bye, good-bye."

"Our next visit, and I think it must be our last," said Uncle George,
"will be to a gentleman friend of mine who is a painter. In a way he
is quite a genius. His name is Wilkins. Wilkins' idea is that it is
very wrong for a man to be limited to one form or school of art, to be
exclusively a landscape painter or a portrait painter, a radical or a
conservative. He goes in for all forms of art. But you shall see for
yourself, for here is his studio."

Mr. Wilkins' studio was by far the pleasantest place Rollo had yet
seen in the Village. And it was even as Uncle George had said; all
about the walls were pictures, no two alike, but all, Rollo thought,
very beautiful. Mr. Wilkins, a tall, handsome man, was very cordial
to his visitors and showed Rollo the various pictures, explaining
carefully just how they were made.

[Illustration: "Never in his life had Rollo seen such a strange
woman"]

"There is a formula for each," he said. "In these cow-pictures,
for instance, you will see that there is a definite proportion of
two-thirds cow to one-third landscape. Venetian canal scenes like
this must be exactly fifty per cent reflection. Last week I worked
up a batch of South Sea pictures using the Gauguin formula. It is
very simple."

Mr. Wilkins was delighted with Rollo's clam-shell.

"I must do some!" he said. "Could you leave it here?"

"Yes, indeed, gladly," said Rollo.

"And what have you been working on to-day?" said Uncle George.

"Just a little summer work," said Mr. Wilkins. "Here it is."

He removed a cloth which covered an easel, and Rollo gazed with awe
and admiration at a picture of a beautiful young lady who was about to
go in bathing without any bathing suit. Rollo had never seen anything
like it before and he was much interested.

"She is a hum-dinger," said Uncle George. "Who is she?"

While Mr. Wilkins and Uncle George chatted in a corner Rollo examined
the picture closely and was really very sorry when Uncle George told
him it was time to go.

When the