"I know where he's been!" the younger boy cried at length. "I have it now. He must have spent all the afternoon in the attic. He was there yesterday, I know, because the door was locked, and—" "Well, what if it was?" Gilbert demanded crossly. "I didn't want you poking and prying about the place. I locked the door to keep you out." "Don't wrangle, boys," Mrs. Mickle interposed pacifically. "I wish, Gilbert," she said with a slight sigh, "that you would get out more this fine weather. Soon you will be back at school again, and then you will be obliged to remain indoors." Shortly after tea Miss Goodwin left, and was escorted home by Tom, who carried her waterproof and goloshes, and made himself a most entertaining companion by good-humouredly listening to the little lady's chatter. She lived in a small, detached house close to the town, at the bottom of the road leading up Haresdown Hill, so they had not far to go. It stood in a sheltered spot, and a large myrtle flourished against the wall close to the front door, hence the name of the house, Myrtle Villa. Whilst Tom was seeing Miss Goodwin home, Mrs. Mickle and Gilbert had been left in the sitting-room together, the little girls having gone upstairs to their own room. For a while there was silence between mother and son, but at last the former spoke. "You must have been nearly frozen in the attic this afternoon," she said gently. "Why do you make a mystery about what you do there?" The boy made no reply. He had flung himself into an easy chair, and was gazing gloomily into the fire. Mrs. Mickle repeated her question, speaking sharply this time, annoyed at his silence. "I beg your pardon, mother," he cried hastily. "I was doing no harm in the attic." "I never imagined that for a moment. But why not be open? It is not nice of you to be so secretive." "Tom humbugs so. If he knew what I was doing he would be always worrying around me." "But what were you doing, my dear?" Thus pressed Gilbert confessed that he had turned a part of the attic into a sort of studio, and was trying to learn to draw and paint. "I did not want any one to know about it," he explained, "because Tom chatters so, and the girls are so inquisitive, and father wants me to be a lawyer. I don't want to be a lawyer. I would far rather be an artist." Mrs. Mickle's face was expressive of anxious thought. She knew Gilbert had a liking for painting, and drew very well; but he was quite self-taught, and she did not know if he possessed real talent or not. Her husband had always intended the boy should follow his own profession, and hitherto Gilbert had raised no objection to the plan.