THE BOY-ARTIST.

THE PICTURE.

THE BOY-ARTIST.

A Tale for the Young.

BY THE AUTHOR OF
"HOPE ON," "KING JACK OF HAYLANDS," ETC.



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"When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up."
Psalm xxvii. 10.
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LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
—————
1872

Contents.

THE BOY-ARTIST.

CHAPTER I.

THE PICTURE.

"But, Raymond, I can't possibly make the toast if I do."

"Never mind the toast; I shan't be many minutes," said the boy who was painting in the window, while he mixed some colours in an excited, eager manner.

"The fire is very hot. Mayn't I move just to one side?"

"No; it is the way that the firelight is falling on your hair and cheek that I want. Please, Madge; five minutes."

"Very well," and the patient little sister dropped the toasting-fork, and folded her hands in her lap, with the scorching blaze playing on her forehead and cheek, and sparkling in her deep brown eyes.

The boy went on with rapid, bold strokes, while a smile played over his compressed lips as he glanced at Madge every few moments.

"The very thing I have been watching for—that warm, delicious glow—that red light slanting over her face;—glorious!" and he shook back the hair from his forehead, and worked on unconscious of how the minutes flew by.

"Raymond, it is very hot."

"There—one moment more, please, Madge."

One minute—two—three, fled by, and then Raymond threw down his brush and came over to his sister's side.

"Poor little Madge," and he laid his hand coaxingly on her silky hair. "Perhaps you have made my fortune."

This was some small consolation for having roasted her face, and she went to look at the picture. "I'm not as pretty as that, Raymond."

"FACES IN THE FIRE."

"Well, artists may idealize a little; may they not?"

"Yes. What is this to be called?"

"Faces in the Fire."

"Shall you sell it?"

"I shall try."

THE COTTAGE IN THE COUNTRY.

Raymond Leicester had not a prepossessing face; it was heavy, and to a casual observer, stupid. He had dark hazel eyes, shaded by an overhanging brow and rather sweeping eyelashes; a straight nose, and compressed lips, hiding a row of defective teeth; a high massive forehead and light hair, which was seldom smooth, but very straight. This he had a habit of tossing back with a jerk when he was excited; and sometimes the dull eyes flashed with a very bright sparkle in them when he caught an idea which pleased him,—for Raymond was an artist, not by profession, but because it was in