Polly leaned toward Rose.
"Doesn't he EVER talk when he's painting?" she whispered.
Rose shook her head.
"I 'most always bring a book with me, and while Aunt Lois is posing, I read stories," she whispered in reply.
Then for a time neither spoke.
The old clock out in that other room ticked to prove that all was not silent, but it made the waiting children more lonely.
They could not see its face, but after what seemed a long time, it chimed a single note.
"Oh, dear! That's only a half hour. I thought it was going to strike," whispered Rose, "and then we'd have known what time it was."
"Don't you dare to go in there, just a little way, and peep at the clock? It's just around the corner," whispered Polly.
"I promised we wouldn't disturb him while he was painting," whispered Rose, "but I do b'lieve I'll have to soon. I'm just wild to see if he's beginning to put away his paints."