d the stranger, warmly. "You give me new hope. I will
teach him gladly, and leave the price of the lessons to you."

"If you will tell me where you live I will call there at noon. You
will want to buy some food for your little girl."

"Yes, poor little Mary, I must not leave her waiting any longer. I
shall be very glad to see you at my poor room. It is No. -- Centre
street, back room, third floor. Ask for Mr. Henderson."

"I will be sure to call."

The artist made his way to a baker's where he bought a loaf of bread.
Also at a shop near by he obtained a pint of milk, and, provided with
these, he hastened home to his hungry child.

At noon, after taking lunch, Paul found his way to the address given
him by the artist. The room was dark and scantily furnished. Mr.
Henderson sat before an easel, trying to work. He got up hastily as
Paul entered.

"I am glad to see you, my good young friend," he said. "Take a seat."

"Is this your little daughter?" asked Paul.

"Come here, Mary, and speak to the gentleman," said her father.

Mary Henderson was a delicate looking little girl of eight years, with
dark hair and eyes. She would have been pretty if she had been
stronger and more healthy. A few weeks of good food and country air
would bring back the roses to her cheeks, and fill out her emaciated
form.

"Have you any pictures finished?" asked Paul.

"I have two small ones. Would you like to see them?"

"Very much."

The artist went to a closet, and produced two small pictures unframed.
One was an English country landscape, pretty in design, and executed,
as Paul thought, with taste.

"I like that," he said.

"The other is better," said Mr. Henderson.

He exhibited the other canvas. It was a simple sketch of a brother and
sister on their way to school. The faces were bright and pretty, the
attitudes natural and graceful, and all the details were well carried
out.

"You are right," said Paul. "This is the best picture. The girl's face
looks familiar. It is your own little girl, is it not?"

"Then you see the resemblance?"

"Yes, it is very like, but----"

"But it represents a blooming, healthful child, while my poor Mary is
thin and pale. Yet when the picture was painted, before I left
England, it was an exact likeness. You see what privation and the bad
air of the city have done for her."

"She will look like it again. A few weeks will bring her back."

"I hope so."

"You ought to get a good price fo