were hers by nature,
and the oldish ways--notably her self-possession, so quick to assert
itself after an instant's forgetfulness--came perhaps of losing her
mother in early childhood, and the premature duties which that
misfortune entailed. She amused him, for she was only fourteen; but
she impressed him also, for she was Mr. Slocum's daughter. Yet it was
not her lightness, but her gravity, that made Richard smile to
himself.

"I am not interrupting you?" she asked presently.

"Not in the least," said Richard. "I am waiting for these molds to
harden. I cannot do anything until then."

"Papa says you are very clever," remarked Margaret, turning her
wide black eyes full upon him. _"Are_ you?"

"Far from it," replied Richard, laughing to veil his confusion,
"but I am glad your father thinks so."

"You should not be glad to have him think so," returned Margaret
reprovingly, "if you are not clever. I suppose you are, though. Tell
the truth, now."

"It is not fair to force a fellow into praising himself."

"You are trying to creep out!"

"Well, then, there are many cleverer persons than I in the world,
and a few not so clever."

"That won't do," said Margaret positively.

"I don't understand what you mean by cleverness, Miss Margaret.
There are a great many kinds and degrees. I can make fairly honest
patterns for the men to work by; but I am not an artist, if you mean
that."

"You are not an artist?"

"No; an artist creates, and I only copy, and that in a small way.
Any one can learn to prepare casts; but to create a bust or a
statue--that is to say, a fine one--a man must have genius."

"You have no genius?"

"Not a grain."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Margaret, with a disappointed
look. "But perhaps it will come," she added encouragingly. "I have
read that nearly all great artists and poets are almost always
modest. They know better than anybody else how far they fall short of
what they intend, and so they don't put on airs. You don't, either. I
like that in you. May be you have genius without knowing it, Mr.
Shackford."

"It is quite without knowing it, I assure you!" protested Richard,
with suppressed merriment. "What an odd girl!" he thought. "She is
actually talking to me like a mother!"

The twinkling light in the young man's eyes, or something that
jarred in his manner, caused Margaret at once to withdraw into
herself. She went silently about the room, examining the tools and
patterns; t