"Summon this painter to the palace," commanded he, "and let him paint his sovereign and his queen." This order from the king made Gainsborough's portraits the fashion at court, and straightway all the ladies of rank and beauty came to him, entreating him to paint their pictures. His fortune and reputation, by these well-earned favors, rose far beyond anything he had expected, and if ever a man was truly happy in his life and work, that man was Thomas Gainsborough. He was so generous, so good-humored, so lovable in his old-time frankness, that people who sought his acquaintance because he was a famous artist quickly forgot his amazing skill in the pleasure of his ever-boyish company. It was supposed that he had reached the climax of his art when he exhibited a picture of the Duchess of Devonshire, for this set Great Britain agog with praise and wonder; but Thomas Gainsborough was destined to climb yet one step higher in the ladder of public esteem, and the work that crowned his success and brought the world to his feet was a childish portrait entitled "Blue Boy." This was hung on the wall of the Royal Academy, and when the spectators came surging through the gallery, chattering amiably of this canvas and that, they halted speechless before the boy with the thoughtful eyes, the fresh brown skin, and the pale-blue dress. The lad was so young, so sweet, so lifelike in his quiet pose, that not a word was uttered by the critics standing by. One by one they slipped away, aware that Thomas Gainsborough had not attained the goal of his greatness by pictures of kings, queens, court beauties, and mighty soldiers, but by the youthful, innocent portrait entitled simply "Blue Boy." GEORG'S CHAMPION [HÄNDEL] "No, no, Hans, you are too loud, and Frieda goes too fast! Just listen to Otto's trumpet and watch my cane, all of you, and then you'll be right." The tone was an emphatic one, and the speaker pounded sharply on the floor with his walking stick. He was a small boy, whose flaxen hair hung straight and thick on either side of his face. He was panting with excitement, his eyes were sparkling, his lips were set. Before him, on the floor, sat six boys and girls in a semi-circle, attending earnestly to his commands. One boy possessed a toy horn; two others, mouth organs; a fourth, a chubby girl, had dropped a tin fife in sheer fright; and the fifth and sixth clung to drum and dinner-bell respectively. "This time," went on the conductor sternly, "I want you to begin when I bring my cane _down_. Now watch! One, two, three, four,--_one_!" As the big baton descended with the leader's vehement "_one_," a deafening uproar burst from the obedient orchestra. "Keep on, keep on! You're going it now! _Slower_, Frieda! One, two, three, four!"