likes and dislikes much as Billy Bluff did.

The girl wished with all her heart that she was standing behind him that
she might see if the hair on the back of his neck had risen.

A spirit of mischief overcame her.

"Mr. Joses'll paint your horses for you," she said demurely.

"Delighted, I'm sure," laughed the artist.

"Thank you," said the young man, with a brevity the girl herself could
not have surpassed. His shyness had left him, and with it his tendency
to stammer.

Boy felt herself snubbed, and was nettled accordingly.

"I'm going home by the wood," she said.

"I'll come with you," said the artist.

The two moved away down the hill together toward the wood that thrust
like a spear into the heart of the Paddock Close.

Silver watched them with steady eyes. As usual he had been left. That
swift and slimy artist-chap had chipped in while he was thinking what
he should do.

Silver hated artists--not as the result of experience, for he had never
met one in the flesh before, but from instinct, conviction, and