"Fond of her!" Rosalind echoed; "why, Yummy is the very idol of her heart. She has had her from a puppy; it would break the child’s heart to part with her. Why, I would die," she said passionately, "before I would let her do it. I would go out as a charwoman, and scrub floors for my living all the days of my life, rather than do such a mean thing. Mr. Raymond," she went on, "I must go back at once, or I may be too late. I must lose my lesson--I can’t help that. But I must go back--for, look at the poor little letter; all tears and----" and there Rosalind broke down into tears and sobs again; but, all the same, she gathered her brushes together, and began to pack up all her belongings. The maestro stood for a moment in deep thought, but, as Rosalind put her hat on and resolutely dried her eyes, he spoke to the others who were standing around. "I should very much like to see this out," he said, "and, if you will set me free this morning, I will give you each an extra lesson to make up for the interrupted one to-day. What do you say?" "Yes! yes!" they all cried. So the old painter and Rosalind went back to the house at Putney together, and at the door Rosalind put an eager question to the maid who opened it for them. "My mother?" she asked. "Mrs. Mackenzie is dressing to go out, Miss Rosalind," the maid answered. "And Miss Nannie?" "I believe Miss Nannie is in the garden," was the reply. So Rosalind led the maestro out into the garden, where they soon espied Nannie curled up in a big chair, with Yummy in her arms. She did not notice their approach; indeed, she was almost asleep, worn out by the violence of her grief at the coming parting with Yummy, and was lying with her eyes closed, her cheek resting against the dog’s satin-smooth head. Rosalind flung herself down upon her knees before the chair, and took child and dog into her arms. "My own precious little sister, my unselfish darling," she cried; "as if I would let you part with the dear doggy for my sake! I couldn’t, Nannie, my dear, I couldn’t--I couldn’t part with Yummy myself. But I shall never forget it, Nannie--my dear, unselfish Nannie." [Illustration: "My own precious little sister, my unselfish darling," she cried.] Nannie looked past her sister towards the tall old painter standing behind her. "Your lessons," she faltered, with quivering lips. "My little heroine," said the old painter tenderly, "your sister is my favourite among all my pupils. I would rather," he went on, laying his hand on Rosalind’s shoulder--"I would rather teach one real worker such as she is for love, than fifty of the usual kind who come to me. She is just the real worker one might expect with such a sister." "You will go on teaching Rosalind," Nannie cried in a bewildered way, "for nothing?" "I will, gladly," the maestro answered; "and, in return, you shall come one day, and bring the pug, and let me paint a picture of you both."