"Oh, that's where the Cory's live--there's a stream there, with pollywogs in it." David's mind was beginning to wander. "But you never saw such a study in pink in all your life--think of it--pink dress--all different shades of pink--pink roses for the high-note, and then pale pink repeated in the cheeks and then way off in the background there were some pink hollyhocks." "My, oh, my," I added to myself, stubbing gamboge into the canvass to get a sunshiny effect, "My, oh, my--she sat there just like a Grenze--a Gainsborough lady, now, never would have had the courage to have leaned against the tree in that lackadaisical manner; the Lady in Pink--Whistler painted a Lady in White--I shall paint the Lady in Pink! Tomorrow I shall begin, David," I said, "tomorrow I am going down to get my masterpiece." "Well, but you can't go in the Cory's to get it," said David; "that's private grounds." Private grounds! The words stunned me. Couldn't an artist usually go any place he liked? "Private grounds!" I echoed, "oh, yes; why that's so. Why, what on earth will I do?" "I don't know," said David, with a half-rising inflection showing an abstract sympathy. "Think of that! And there it all is just waiting to be painted. Why, look here, David, how on earth did you ever get in to know there were pollywogs?" "Oh," said David, "the folks were away." "Well, I will wait then till they are all away! But, good heavens, what am I thinking about! The garden isn't what I want--it's the Lady in Pink." I began packing up my paints--there was no use trying to do anything more now. "Well, at any rate, we will go down tomorrow," said I, wiping some brushes on my handkerchief, "and maybe in the meanwhile we can think up a way to get in." "Oh, let's go now," suggested David, seeing that things were really moving. "You mean it?" I asked, rather astonished at his sudden desire for action. "All right, then! You fold up the camp stool and umbrella and I'll take the box and the pallet along with me." "Dear me! What on earth now will we ever say when we get there?" I began on the way down the hill. "We might ask for a glass of milk." "Oh, no, we can't do that--it isn't in the country." "Well, I might ask for some hollyhocks." "Well, I guess not! The hollyhocks can't be picked--they're part of the masterpiece." "Then you think something yourself," and David lapsed into a discouraged silence. But I couldn't think of anything save that I must and would have the lady at any cost and though I couldn't see how I was going to get it, I had a very clear picture of myself in the garden, painting away.