Christina and the boys

by Amy Le Feuvre

A sigh followed.

"I wonder if my father paints pictures?"

"I'm sure he doesn't."

"What will he do all day?"

"He'll ride a horse and smoke a pipe and read a newspaper," said Dawn with serious conviction.

"And mother?"

"She'll—I don't know about mothers. Aunt Rachael helps to cook the dinner and mends our clothes and makes jam. She made some apple jam out of our garden yesterday! Come in and taste some!"

To think was to act with Dawn. He dropped his broom and dashed away to the house. Christina followed him.

"Aunt Rachael gave me some skimmings in a saucer. I believe I left it in dad's room. Come on, and we'll find it."

Without any ceremony Dawn flung open the door of his father's studio. His father was standing before his big canvas, painting earnestly. He did not look round or speak till Dawn had seized hold of his saucer of jam. Then he turned and smiled at Christina.