"Yes; that's fine," he said, glancing up as she came to him. "Now get down here on your knees by the--what kind of boards did you call them, Amarilly? Mopboards? Yes, that was it. Now try and put your whole mind on the memory of the horror you felt at the accumulation of dirt on that first day, and begin to scrub. Turn your head slightly toward me, tilted just a little--so--There, that's fine! Keep that position just as long and just as well as you possibly can." Derry began to paint, mechanically at first, and then as he warmed to his subject and became interested in his conception, with rapidity and absorption. "There!" he finally exclaimed, "you can rest now! This may be my chef- d'oeuvre, after all, Amarilly. Won't you be proud to be well hung in the Academy and have a group constantly before your picture. Why, what's the matter, child," springing to her side, "tears? I forgot it was your first experience in posing. Why didn't you tell me you were tired?" "I wan't tired," she half sobbed. "Well, what is it? Tell me." "I'm afeerd you'll laugh at me." "Not on your life! And your word for to-day, Amarilly, is afraid. Remember. Never _afeerd_." "I'll remember," promised Amarilly meekly, as she wiped her dewy eyes. "Now tell me directly, what is the matter." "It'll be such a humbly picture with my hair that way. I'd ought to look my best. I'd rather you'd paint me waiting on your table." "But a waitress is such a trite subject. It would be what your friend, I mean, our friend, Miss King, calls bromidic. An artist, a real artist, with a soul, Amarilly, doesn't look for pretty subjects. It's the truth that he seeks. To paint things as they are is what he aims to do. A little scrub-girl appeals to the artistic temperament more than a little waitress, don't you think? But only you, Amarilly, could look the part of the Little Scrub-Girl as you did. And it would be incongruous-- remember the word, please, Amarilly, in-con-gru-ous--to paint her with stylishly dressed hair. You posed so easily, so perfectly, and your expression was so precisely the one I wanted, and your patience in keeping the pose was so wonderful, that I thought you had really caught the spirit of the thing, and were anxious to help me achieve my really great picture." "I have--I will pose for you as long as you wish," she cried penitently, "and I will braid my hair on wire, and then it will stand out better." "Good! You are a dear, amenable little girl. To-morrow afternoon we will resume. Here, let me loosen your braids. Goodness, what thick strands!" She stood by the open window, and the trembling, marginal lights of a setting sun sent gleams and glints of gold through her loosened hair which fell like a flaming veil about her.