Meanwhile, showing no further cognizance of her, Barron took the glasses
himself and looked at the distant ship.

"A splendid vessel," he said. "I expect you have a picture of her, haven't
you?"

"No," she answered, "but I've got a lil ship Joe cut out o' wood an'
painted butivul. Awnly that's another vessel what Joe sailed in afore."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, "because you were good enough to
explain all about the fishing-boats. I'll make a tiny picture of the 'Anna'
and paint it and give it to you."

But the girl took fright instantly.

"You'm a artist, then?" she said, with alarm in her face and voice.

He shook his head.

"No, no. Do I look like an artist? I'm only a stranger down here for a day
or two. I paint things sometimes for my own amusement, that's all."

"Pickshers?"

"They are not worth calling pictures. Just scraps of the sea and trees and
cliffs and sky, to while away the time and remind me of beautiful things
after I have left them."

"You ban't a artist ezacally, then?"