I looked at it in wonder.

Instinctively I spoke to him. "What are you painting?" I said.
"Is it the Heavenly Child?"

"No," he said, "it is a cow!"

Then I looked again and I could see that it was a cow.

I looked straight into his eyes.

"It shall be our secret," I said; "no one else shall know."

And I knew that I loved him.

* * *

A Week Later.

Each morning I go to see Otto beside the river in the meadow.

He sits and paints, and I sit with my hands clasped about my
knees and talk to him. I tell him all that I think, all that
I read, all that I know, all that I feel, all that I do not
feel.

He listens to me with that far-away look that I have learned
to love and that means that he is thinking deeply; at times he
almost seems not to hear.