"Oh! you may make light of it," she continued very seriously; "I am not so blind as not to guess that you brought her home a little for her sake, and a good deal for your own." "'Faith, then, you only guess the truth, Kate," said Cornelius, impatiently; "it is odd you never seem to understand what, heaven knows, I never seek to hide, nor dream to deny. I am fond of the child, very fond of her. I cared little for her when she came first to us, but she chose to take a fancy to me, and, though it would puzzle me to say how it came to pass, I found out in time that I had taken to her what must have been a very real fancy, for since she left I have never felt as if the house were the same without her. So after a week's hesitation and delay I went off and fetched her yesterday--and I don't repent it, Kate. She has provoked and tormented me--she will do so again, I have no doubt, perverse little creature! and yet I cannot help being glad at having her once more." He laid his hand on my head and looked me kindly in the face as he said it. "After that," resignedly replied Kate, "meddling of mine is worse than useless; but what did Mr. Thornton say?" "Mr. Thornton has had the impertinence to say that if Margaret Burns is such a fool as to wish to stay with me, she is welcome." Kate smiled, and said, "If I wished to go down with her I might." "Daisy is not going down, but up," replied Cornelius, taking me by the hand and leading me to the studio; as we entered it he said-- "Daisy, you knocked at the door yesterday, and stood on the threshold: I won't have that again." "Very well, Cornelius; shall I arrange the portfolios?" "If you like." I looked over them for awhile, then could not help observing-- "Cornelius, they look just as I left them." "Perhaps they are: one cannot be always looking at those old things." I put by the portfolio and looked around me. In a corner I perceived Medora; I knew enough of painting to see at a glance that it had scarcely been touched since I had left home. Cornelius was very apt to begin pictures, and leave them by for some other fancy: Medora had thus replaced the Stolen Child, but I looked in vain for the successor of Medora. "Where is it, Cornelius?" I asked at length. "Where is what, child?" he replied, turning round. "The other picture." "What other picture?" "The one for which you put by Medora." I was looking at him very earnestly: I saw him redden. "There is no other picture," he answered; "I have been obliged to work for money; to do such things as this," he added, pointing with a sigh to the painting which he was copying. "Have you earned much money?" I asked seriously. "A little," he replied smiling. "Do you think you will sell the Happy Time?" "I have hopes of it: why do you ask, child?" "Because by putting all your money together, you will be able to begin it." "Begin what?" "The picture." "But, child, there is no picture," he answered impatiently.