It was in my mind that if only I could make a remark of the right kind I might immediately differentiate myself in this artist's eyes from the general run of 'inmates.' This again may have been an unworthy and snobbish thought, but I know it was mine at the time, based in my mind upon the unvoiced but profound conviction that I was different in essence from the other orphans. This was not mere conceit, I think, because it emanated rather from pride in my father than from any exalted opinion of myself. But, whatever the rights of it, no suitable remark came to me. Indeed, beyond an incoherent mumble over the hand-shaking, I might have been a mute for all the part I had so far taken in this interview. And just then I caught a glimpse of Sister Agatha emerging from behind the wood-stack at the end of the vegetable garden, and that gave me something else to think about. 'Excuse me!' I said, angrily conscious that I was flushing again and that all my limbs were in my way, and that I was presenting a most uncouth appearance. 'I must get on with the milking.' And then I made my plunge. 'Perhaps you would speak to Sister-in-charge. Not this one here, but Sister-in-charge,' I hurriedly added as Sister Agatha drew nearer, her thin lips tightly compressed, her gimlet eyes full of promise of ear-tweakings. 'She would perhaps give me leave to--to do anything you wanted. I--I am sure she would. Good-bye!' Having hurriedly fired this last shot, I bolted into the milking-shed. Just for an instant I had succeeded in meeting Mr. Rawlence's eye. I had very much wanted to show him something, as, for example, that I would gladly do anything he liked, even to the extent of allowing him to trample all over me--if only I had been a free agent. In some way I had longed to claim kinship with him, in a humble fashion; to say that I understood him and his kind, despite my ragged trousers and scarred, dusty bare feet. Now, with a pail between my knees, and my head in a cow's flank, I was very sure I had utterly failed to convey anything, except that I was an uncouth creature. My eyes smarted from mortification; and the grotesque thought crossed my mind that if only I had had a photograph of my father, and could have shown it to Mr. Rawlence, the position would have been quite different! I suppose I must have been a rather fatuous youth. Also, I was obsessed to the point of mania by the determination not to become a veritable 'inmate' of St. Peter's, like my fellows there, however long I might be condemned to live in the place. During the next three days I was greatly depressed by the fact that I never caught a glimpse of the artist anywhere. In fact, it was said that he had gone away from Myall Creek altogether. And then, greatly to my secret joy, the Sister-in-charge sent for me one morning and said: