Margaret Manning arose reluctantly and followed them, the boys looking on and wondering. She looked at each of the three. One was the aforementioned nymph’s dance, another was a beautiful woman’s head, and the third was a flock of children romping with a cart and a dog and some roses. Margaret turned from them disappointed, and looked back toward the other picture. “I don’t like any of them, Mrs. Ketchum, but the first one. Oh, I do think that is the one. Please come and look at it again.” “Why, my dear,” fluttered Mrs. Ketchum disturbedly, “I thought we settled it that that picture was too, too—not quite appropriate for a den, you know.” But her words were lost, for the others had gone forward under the skylight to where the grand picture stood, and were once more under the spell of those wonderful eyes of the pictured Master. “It is a real nice picture,” spoke up Mrs. Brown. She was fond of Margaret Manning, though she did not know much about art. She had been elected from the woman’s Bible class, and had been rather overpowered by Mrs. Ketchum, but she felt that now she ought to stand up for her friend Margaret. If _she_ wanted that picture, that picture it should be. “How much did you say you would give us that for, Mr. Thorpe?” said the sharp little voice of Mr. Talcut. Mr. Thorpe courteously mentioned the figures. “That’s only ten dollars more’n we’ve got,” spoke up the hoarse voice of one of the seven unexpectedly. It was Joe, who felt that he owed his salvation to the young superintendent’s earnest efforts in his behalf. “I say we’d better get it. Ten dollars ain’t much. We boys can go that much. I’ll go it myself somehow if the others don’t.” “Well, really, ladies, I suppose it’s a very good bargain,” said Mr. Talcut rubbing his hands and smiling. “Then we’ll take it,” said Joe, nodding decidedly to Mr. Thorpe; “I’ll go the other ten dollars, and the boys can help, if they like.” “But really Margaret, my dear,” said Mrs. Ketchum quite distressed, “a _den_, don’t you know, is not a place for——” But the others were all saying it was just the picture, and she was not heard. Mr. Talcut was giving the address and orders about the sending. None of them seemed to realize that Mrs. Ketchum had not given her consent, and she, poor lady, had to gracefully accept the situation. “Well, it’s really a very fine thing, I suppose,” she said at last, somewhat hesitatingly, and putting up her lorgnette to take a critical look. “I don’t admire that style of architecture, and that table-cloth isn’t put on very gracefully; it would have been more artistic draped a little; but it’s really very fine, and quite new, you say, and of course the artist is irreproachable. I think Mr. Stanley will appreciate it.”