"I am glad you see whom it is intended to represent," Mr. Willis said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "She was our first caller. I made that sketch of her from memory; of course it is a caricature, but not an unkindly one, I hope. She is a dear old soul!" "Oh yes," Gilbert agreed. "Every one likes Miss Goodwin. This is a very good likeness of her, Mr. Willis—goloshes and all!" It was wonderful how much better looking the boy's face appeared when he laughed, as he did at that moment. Mr. Willis told him he might look at the other sketches in the book if he liked, and as he turned over the pages, explained their contents to him. "I wish I could draw like this," Gilbert said earnestly, as he at last closed the book and returned it to its owner. "I should so much like to be an artist; but father wants me to be a lawyer like himself, and—" He broke off in the midst of the sentence as the sound of wheels was heard, and a pony-carriage driven by Mr. Bailey, drawn by a strong Exmoor pony, appeared in sight from the direction of the town. "We will continue our conversation to-morrow afternoon," said Mr. Willis pleasantly, as his uncle drove up, and brought the pony to a standstill. "I am afraid I have kept you waiting a long time, John," Mr. Bailey observed apologetically. "I was unexpectedly delayed at several places—How do you do, my lad?" he said, holding out his hand to Gilbert, who reached for his crutches and came forward to shake hands with him. "I'm quite well, thank you," the boy answered. "What a nice little carriage! And, oh, I say, what a jolly little pony!" "Yes," Mr. Bailey nodded complacently as his nephew took the seat by his side; "it's a trim turn-out altogether, isn't it? The pony is a rare one to travel, and such a strong, sure-footed little beast. Pixy, he's called. Why haven't you been to see us yet, eh?" "He is coming to-morrow afternoon," Mr. Willis answered quickly; "I have been arranging it with him." "That's right! That's right!" Mr. Bailey gathered up the reins, and Pixy started off at a swift pace. Mr. Willis looked back and waved his hand to Gilbert, who, leaning on his crutches, stood gazing after the pony-carriage. "That's a cross-grained boy, if I'm not much mistaken," the artist remarked shrewdly, "and a very unhappy one too. He is very different to the other Mickle children—perhaps his affliction has soured him." "Perhaps so," Mr. Bailey agreed, "but I thought he looked bright enough to-day." Meanwhile Gilbert had glanced at his watch, and had discovered that it was half-past one o'clock, which was his dinner-time. How the last hour had simply flown! What an interesting companion the artist was. And what good spirits he appeared to be in, considering his recent severe illness, and the disappointment which had attended it. Gilbert felt sure, under similar circumstances, he himself would be in a most depressed condition.