Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Didactic fiction; Domestic fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction
Arrived at home, Angel hastened to the studio in search of her
father, to give him a share of her flowers; she found Gilbert Mickle
on the point of leaving, and was surprised at the brightness of his
face. The boy was in an unusually happy frame of mind, Mr. Willis
having found great merit in his sketches.
"Only think, Angel," Mr. Willis said to his little daughter after
Gilbert had gone, "he is quite self-taught. He never took a drawing
lesson in his life. He has real talent, and I have been telling him
that if his father will permit it, I will gladly give him some
lessons; he would be a promising pupil. What are you looking
so thoughtful about, my dear?"
"I was thinking what a disappointment it must be to you, father,
that I have no talent for drawing," she responded gravely; "you were
so pleased with those freehand drawings Gerald did at school."
"Naturally I was. We shall see what you do at school; if you cannot
learn to draw, there are plenty of other things you can master, I am
sure."
"Oh yes," Angel agreed, her face brightening. "It will be delightful
to go to school. Only a week longer to wait. Dinah and Dora Mickle
say they will be sorry when the holidays are over, but I shall be
so glad. Gerald hasn't returned yet, has he, father?"
"I have not seen him since you left."
When Gerald strolled into the house a half-hour later, he was in a
thoughtful mood. He listened inattentively to the account his sister
gave him of how she had spent the morning, and offered no confidences
in return.
"Wasn't it dreadful about the little birds?" Angel said, after she
had repeated Dora's story of the tragedy.
"Oh, bother the birds!" he cried irritably. "What a fuss every one
makes about them! First Gilbert, and now you—"
He paused, noticing Angel's look of astonishment. It was not that he
was not sorry the birds were dead, but his feeling of guilt made him
hate to hear of them. He turned impatiently away, muttering under his
breath that girls were too soft-hearted for anything, and Gilbert
Mickle was just as bad.
CHAPTER XV
Commencing the Summer Term
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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