The picture was nearing completion. That most absorbing half-hour had arrived when just a little deepening of a shadow here, and the wiping out of a curl of smoke there, made all the difference, and the painter was wrapped up in his work, and scarcely noticed the three children. [Sidenote: Jacob Sings.] The elder girl was busy plaiting grasses, and the baby had crawled nearer and nearer to the easel until a paint brush suddenly shaken out sprinkled her little face and she set up a dismal cry. In vain the sister hushed and rocked her. Nothing seemed of any use until the girl said, “Shall Jacob sing to baby?” Then the sobs were instantly quieted, and from close behind him the painter heard a strangely sweet voice begin clear and true “Once in ’oyal David’s City.” Right through the dear old children’s hymn the singer went, and long before the end each of the three listeners were enthralled by the melody. Leaning a little backwards the big grown man, whose thoughts had gone back to the days when he, too, sang carols, stretched out a hand to caress the little singer who edged himself along the grass till he was able to rest his head against the painter’s knee. So they stayed quietly for a time, a detail being now and then added to the picture, while a little hand crept up every few minutes to touch the coat or stroke the knee of the boy’s new-found friend. [Sidenote: Jacob was Blind.] So the other children found them when they came back from school. Now the picture was more easily understood and far more to their liking, but in all their anxiety to see, no one pushed in front of little Jacob. “Bootiful picture,” he said, and all of them echoed his words. “I can’t do a picture,” he added, and the other children said not a word. “No,” said the painter, “but Jacob can make beautiful music,” and stooping down he lifted the little fellow on to his knee. Then for the first time he understood. Jacob Joyce was blind. [Sidenote: A Child’s Perception of Sorrow.] Although children frequently fail to realise the great shadows which from time to time darken the lives of their elders, yet sometimes a perception of a great sorrow will force its way to the mind of a child, and nothing more pathetic can be witnessed than the dumb perplexity with which a child faces such trouble. There is something in it that reminds one of the wistful expression in the face of a favourite dog when it is restlessly wandering about a house watching the preparations for its master’s departure, or has incurred a measure of chastisement for an offence that it does not understand. [Sidenote: Two Little Boys Blue.]