Wives, children, and visitors were gathered on the small landing place; most had dishes or plates in their hands, for the herrings could be bought straight from the boats. The family from York were there, and they greeted me as an old friend. When the little village had been abundantly supplied with fish, the rest of the herrings were packed up and sent off by train to be sold elsewhere. It was a pretty animated scene, and I wished I had brought my sketchbook with me. I thought the arrival of the fishing boats would make a splendid subject for a picture. Duncan was too busy even to see me till the fish were all landed, counted, and disposed of, but he had time for a word with little John, and as I was finishing my breakfast he came in with the child perched on his shoulder. 'Good morning, sir,' he said; 'and how do you like our bay this morning?' My answer fully satisfied him, and whilst he sat down to his morning meal I went out to begin my work. It was a lovely day, and I thoroughly enjoyed the prospect before me. I found a shady place just under the wall of a house, where my picture would be in sunlight and I and my easel in shadow. I liked the spot I had chosen even better than I had done before breakfast, and I was soon hard at work. I had sketched in my picture, and was beginning to paint, when I became conscious of the sound of voices just over my head, and I soon became equally conscious that they were talking about me. 'It's just like it,' said one voice. 'Look--do look. There's Betty Green's cottage, and Minnie the cat, and the seat, and the old boat.' [Illustration] 'Let me see, Marjorie,' said another voice; 'is it the old one with white hair and a long, long beard?' 'No, it's quite a young one; his hair's black, and he hasn't got a beard at all.' 'Let me look. Yes, I can see him. I like him much better than the old one; hasn't he got nice red cheeks?' 'Hush! he'll hear,' said the other voice. 'You naughty boy! I believe he did hear; I saw him laugh.' I jumped up at this, and looked up, but I could see nothing but a garden wall and a thick bushy tree, which was growing just inside it. 'Hullo, who's there?' I shouted. But there was dead silence; and as no one appeared, and nothing more happened, I sat down and went on with my picture. Many people passed by as I was painting, and tried to look at what I was doing. Some glanced out of the corners of their eyes as they walked on; others paused behind me and silently watched me; a few made remarks to one another about my picture; one or two offered suggestions, thought I should have had a better view lower down the hill, or hoped that I would make the colouring vivid enough. The children with whom I had travelled seemed to feel a kind of partnership in my picture. 'Let's go and look at _our_ artist,' Bob would say to Harry; 'his picture is going to be the best of the lot.'