"Put on your oldest skirt, then, for they'll smear sticky fingers over it! 'We are seven' is a nice sentiment in a poem, but one prefers a lesser number in a cottage, especially when the family is so addicted to treacle. I call you a martyr to the cause of art. I like the dilapidated, tumble-down, picturesque exteriors, but I draw the line at sitting inside some of them." "That's where your enthusiasm falls short of mine!" "Yes, I should want the Gartley residence spring-cleaned first. But tastes differ--you can always overlook every inconvenience for the sake of the picturesque; so go, and my blessing go with you!" "Don't rag!" murmured Katrine. "It's not so bad as all that." When Katrine arrived at the cottage, and proffered her request to Mrs. Gartley to be allowed to make a sketch of the kitchen, she thought just a shade of doubt passed over the care-worn face, and that the assent, though ready enough, was not quite so cordial as she had expected. She saw the explanation of the woman's hesitation at once when she entered. Seated by the fireside, with his boots on the fender and a clay pipe in his mouth, was a hang-dog-looking individual whom she had no difficulty in guessing to be Bob Gartley, though she had never chanced to come across him before. "You won't mind he?" said Mrs. Gartley apologetically, under her breath. "He's biding at home to-day, instead of at his work. It's a poor place for you to sit, but I'll try and keep the children off you. Hugh? Oh yes, he'll stand if you want him! Go and fetch him, Mary! Get away, Tom! Would you like a chair, miss?" "I've brought my camp-stool, thank you," replied Katrine, unpacking her sketching materials, and placing her canvas upon her easel. "You see, I've already put Hugh into the picture. I only want to finish him off, and paint a background." "Why, there he be to the life! And if it isn't old Mrs. Blundell, too! Oh, isn't it beautiful? Might Bob take a look? Bob, come and see how nice the lady's painted our Hugh!" Bob heaved himself up rather diffidently, and approached the easel. He was apparently modest at receiving visitors. He stared hard at the canvas, bending down, indeed, to examine it more closely. Katrine thought he was mentally appraising the portrait of his child, but when at last he spoke, his criticism was totally unexpected. "Where did you get yon cupboard?" he grunted. "This little spice cupboard in the picture? Why, I bought it from Mrs. Stubbs." "You bought it? Off Mrs. Stubbs? How did she come to get hold of it, now?" "I believe she got it at a sale." "And you've drawed it just as it is? You haven't made up they letters and figures and things as is on it?" "Oh, no! I copied them exactly." "And where is it now?" "I have it safely at Aireyholme, in the studio." "What do you want to know for, Bob?" interposed his wife.