he settled himself for serious work.

He was so engrossed that he had not noticed the
school-children who had come up noiselessly from
behind and were looking in wonder at his drawings.
Presently a child, who in her eagerness had touched
his shoulder, broke the stillness in apology.

"Say, Mister, there's a lady comes to school every
day. She's a painter too, and drawed Sissy
Mathers."

Oliver glanced at the speaker and the group about
her; wished them all good-morning and squeezed a
fresh tube on his palette. He was too much absorbed
in his work for prolonged talk. The child, emboldened
by his cheery greeting, began again, the others
crowding closer. "She drawed the bridge too, and
me and Jennie Waters was sitting on the rail--she's
awful nice."

Oliver looked up, smiling.

"What's her name?"

"I don't know. Teacher calls her Miss Margaret,
but there's more to it. She comes every
year."

Oliver bent over his easel, drew out a line brush