It was a lovely day, and I thoroughly
enjoyed the prospect before me. I found a shady place just under the
wall of a house, where my picture would be in sunlight and I and my
easel in shadow. I liked the spot I had chosen even better than I had
done before breakfast, and I was soon hard at work.
I had sketched in my picture, and was beginning to paint, when I became
conscious of the sound of voices just over my head, and I soon became
equally conscious that they were talking about me.
'It's just like it,' said one voice. 'Look--do look. There's Betty
Green's cottage, and Minnie the cat, and the seat, and the old boat.'
[Illustration]
'Let me see, Marjorie,' said another voice; 'is it the old one with
white hair and a long, long beard?'
'No, it's quite a young one; his hair's black, and he hasn't got a beard
at all.'
'Let me look. Yes, I can see him. I like him much better than the old
one; hasn't he got nice red cheeks?'
'Hush! he'll hear,' said the other voice. 'You naughty boy! I believe he
did hear; I saw him laugh.
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