_Bartlett._--"Oh-h-h-h!" He scratches his head in visible stupefaction. Then with reanimation: "I see. It was my error. _I_ was looking for middle distance, and _you_ had been working on the foreground. Very good; very-- Oh, gracious powers--No, no! Don't be discouraged, Miss Wyatt; remember it's the first time you've attempted anything of the sort, and you've really done very well. Here!" He seizes the pencil and draws. "We will just sink these hay-stacks,--which are very good in their way, but not perhaps sufficiently subordinated,--just sink them into the lake yonder. They will serve very well for the reflections of those hills beyond, and now you can work away at some of the details of the foreground; they will interest you more." He retires a pace. "It's really not a bad start as it is." _Constance_, ruefully.--"But it's all yours, Mr. Bartlett." _Bartlett._--"Eh?" _Constance._--"You drew every line in it." _Bartlett._--"No, you drew the line of the distant hills." _Constance._--"But I didn't mean it for that!" _Bartlett._--"Well, well; but the lady's figure, that was good"-- _Constance._--"You turned her into a clump of birches." _Bartlett._--"True. A mere exigency of the perspective. The hay-stacks"-- _Constance._--"You've just sunk them into the lake!" _Bartlett._--"Well, well. Perhaps I may have helped in the execution of the picture, a little. But my dear Miss Wyatt, the _drawing_ is nothing; it's the _design_ is what makes the picture, and that's _entirely_ yours; the ideas were all _yours_. Come! Try your hand now at the shore line of the lake, just here." _Constance._--"I'm afraid I'm a little tired. My hands are cold." _Bartlett._--"Oh, I'm sorry!" He takes one of them and places it between either of his. "That shows you've been working too hard. I can't allow that. All the art in the world isn't worth--I mustn't forget that you have not been well; and I want these little lessons to be a pastime and not a burden to you. The picture's sufficiently advanced now"--he mechanically puts her hand under his left arm, and keeps his own right hand upon it, while he takes his station with her in front of the easel--"to warrant us in trying a little colour to-morrow. You'll be very much more interested in colour. It _is_ refreshing to get at the brushes after you've tired yourself out with the black and white. You've got a very pretty outfit, there, Miss Wyatt." He indicates her colours on the little table. _Constance._--"I didn't mean to refuse the offer of your paints, but I thought it would be better to have the colours _perfectly fresh_, you know." _Bartlett._--"Quite right. Quite right. Now you see-- Rest on _me_, Miss Wyatt, or I shall be afraid of fatiguing you by standing; and I'd like to point out a few things for you to begin on here to-morrow." _Constance._--"Oh, I'm not _very_ tired. But I _will_ keep your arm if you will let me."