"His real name is Torquil," young Angus explained, "after my grandfather. He's just a kid, like you. What is your own name?"
"I am Faith Winton."
"Faith Winton French?"
"No, just Winton. Uncle Godfrey isn't really my uncle. That is, he is my mother's uncle by marriage. My mother is dead, too. My father is Sewell Winton."
She stated the fact proudly; but the boy was unimpressed.
"What does your father do for a living?" he asked.
"My father is a great artist."
"Is that so," said young Mackay. "You mean he paints pictures?"
"Of course he does—great pictures. But I suppose, living here, you've never seen them." Her tone expressed pity.
"I've never seen painted pictures that looked like anything at all," Angus Mackay returned with contempt. "There was a teacher at our school that painted things, but you could not tell what it was all about. She would paint what she would call a cow, but it would look like a horse, all but the horns, and a poor horse, too. Has your father come here to paint?"