Opening a drawer Mrs. Austin displayed all sorts of painting materials heaped up within it. Water-colour paints, drawing blocks, palettes, oil-tubes, canvases, pencils, and chalks were all mixed up together. "These belonged to my dear son Silas," said Mrs. Austin, wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron. "He was never strong like Sam, he was always a delicate lad. He couldn’t do hard work, with his poor thin hands and weakly legs. But he was a rare lad for a bit of colour. ’Mother, I’ll be an artist,’ he oft said to me. And I had him taught. He used to attend classes, and go to a School of Art--I was at a deal of expense--and now, now he’s gone!" She broke down, sobbing bitterly, while Doris put her arms round her neck and kissed her poor red face, which was all she could do to comfort her. "He’s gone," continued the widow pathetically, "to be an artist up above, if so be it’s true that God permits people to carry on their work on high." "On the earth the broken arcs, in the Heaven a perfect round," quoted Doris softly. "Ay, miss, I think so," said the poor woman, whom sorrow had taught much. "My Silas, he said to me when he lay dying, ’Mother, God is the Master Artist, He began me, just as I begin my pictures, and He never makes mistakes, or wastes His materials; He’ll turn me into something good over there, as it isn’t to be down here.’" "He had beautiful faith," said Doris, "and I am sure it will be as he said." "Oh, my dear young lady," cried the other, with great feeling, "I thank God that He sent you here! I do feel so comforted to have you here, and I do hope you will do me the favour to accept these painting things--every one of them, please. Then you can paint pictures and sell them, as my poor dear boy wanted to do." Doris, however, was reluctant to accept so much, and only did so at last on the understanding that if she were so fortunate as to sell her pictures Mrs. Austin should have a percentage of the pay, for the use of the materials. That settled, it became necessary to arrange where the work should be done; for both Doris’s bedroom and the little front parlour, where she sat and had her meals, were too dark for the purpose. Mrs. Austin was equal to the occasion. "Why shouldn’t you have the top attic, where my boy used to paint?" she said. "There’s a sky-light, you know; and my Silas always said the light fell beautiful in his study, or studio, as he used to call it. Do come upstairs and see what it is like?" Doris did so, and found a large attic lighted by a huge sky-light. Boxes and lumber littered the floor, an old square table was against the wall, and a rather decrepit easel stood under the sky-light; a few plaster casts, and big discoloured chalk drawings, were scattered about, or stuck on the walls with gum-paper, or sealing wax. The atmosphere of the attic was close and fusty, it having evidently been shut up for a long time.