Many child sitters came to me then. There were three little children I was painting, and they, being motherless, were rather at the mercy of various maids and governesses. On the occasion of one visit to me, they had no one to escort them. Consequently, the eldest, a girl of about eleven, arrived in a cab in charge of her two smaller sisters instead of the governess who usually kept them all three in order while I painted them. In the absence of this good lady, the two children behaved themselves uncommonly well, and I was able to paint them without interruption; but the child looking after them, having been in the studio about an hour, suddenly said tersely, "I'm going now ... I'm tired." Then and there she carried off her charges with an air of great authority, ordered a cab, and was gone. Being a child lover, and believing I was well able to control recalcitrant children, I was nevertheless unprepared for the behaviour of one little lady who came with her nurse to be painted. After two or three sittings, finding her somewhat weary, I thought to encourage her by showing her the portrait. "Now," I began, with the best intentions, "if you'll be very good and sit _very_ still, I'll show you after this sitting what I've done." I kept my promise and lowered the oil painting which was quite wet, so that she might view it with greater ease. "I told Mummie," she began, "I never wanted to come and sit for my picture," and, making a quick movement, carefully obliterated the whole of my work. My astonishment and chagrin were considerable, but, after severe corrections at home, the little girl returned to apologize and finish her sittings, and I completed the picture. One time, when I was visiting Mr. and Mrs. Coope at Brentwood, they commissioned me to paint two of their daughters; the late Mrs. Edward Ponsonby and Miss Coope also partly completed a portrait of old Mr. Coope, but gave him up in despair, and he, upon seeing my bewilderment, sympathetically remarked, "The only artist who, had he lived now, could have painted me would have been Franz Hals." But that was before Sargent's day. My hostess, Mrs. Coope, a very handsome and charming old lady, wrote to me some time after my return to ask me to come down and make a drawing of her little grandchildren, who were staying with her then. When I arrived, I was shown into the nursery and introduced to a little baby, who was entirely occupied with crawling on the floor. After pursuing my erratic model all over the room in hopes of catching her at a happy moment, and failing hopelessly in my quest, I gave up, and was informed by the fond grandparent-- "She'll never sit still ... your only chance is to crawl on the floor after her with your pencil and paper, and if you want to arrest her attention, the only thing is to buzz like a bee." So I buzzed, found the ruse successful, and made the sketch, which was very well received.