"You draw in pencil yourself?" asked Mr. Henley. "Oh no!" said Eleanor; "at least only a little. It was my mother's drawings I was thinking of; and how she used to show us the different ways of doing the foliage of different trees, and the marking on the bark of the trunks." Mr. Henley drew a sheet of paper from his portfolio, and took a pencil from his case. "Let us see, my dear young lady, what you remember of these lessons. The pencil is well cut. There are flat sides for shading, and sharp ends for outlines." Madame's thin lips pursed with the ghost of a smile, as Eleanor, with hot cheeks and hands, came across "the room" to put her theories in practice. "I can't do it, I know," she said, as she sat down, and gave herself one of those nervous twitches common to girls of the hobble-de-hoy age. But Eleanor's nervous' spasms were always mitigated by getting something into her fingers. Pencil and paper were her favourite implements; and after a moment's pause, and a good deal of frowning, she said: "We've a good many oaks about us;" and forthwith began upon a bit of oak foliage. "It's only a spray," she said. "It's very good," said the drawing-master, who was now looking over her shoulder. "Oak branches are all elbows," she murmured, warming to her work, and apparently talking to herself. "So different from willows and beeches." "Ve-ry good," said Mr. Henley, as Eleanor fitted the branches dexterously into the clusters of leaves; "now for a little bit of the oak bark, if you please." "This is only one tree, though," said Madame, who was also looking on. "Let us see others, mademoiselle." "Willows are nice to do," said Eleanor, intent upon her paper; "and the bark is prettier than oak, I think, and easier with these long points. My mother says branches of trees should be done from the tips inwards; and they do fit in better, I think. Only willow branches seem as if they ought to be done outwards, they taper so. Beech trunks are very pretty, but the leaves are difficult, I think. Scotch pines are easy." And Eleanor left the beech and began upon the pine, fitting in the horizontal branches under the foliage groups with admirable effect. "That will do, Miss Arkwright," said the little drawing-master. "Your mother has been a good guide to you; and Mother Nature will complete what she has begun. Now we will look at the copy, if you please." Eleanor's countenance fell again. Her pink mountain had run into her blue mountain, and the interrupted wash had dried with hard and unmanageable outlines. Sponging was the only remedy. Next drawing-lesson day Mr. Henley arrived a few minutes earlier than was his wont, staggering under a huge basket containing a large clump of flags and waterside herbage, which he had dug up "bodily," as he said. These he arranged on a tray, and then from the bottom of the basket produced the broken fragments of a red earthenware jug.