"Did he?" returned the boy listlessly. "He never was an artist when—when she was here."
"That is strange, isn't it?" said Mrs. Lowell. "Strange that he should be able suddenly to do such good things?"
"No," said Bertie simply. "It is easy."
They were both silent for a time. The portfolio lay on the stones between them. The boy suddenly picked it up.
"I must tear this," he said.
Mrs. Lowell caught his hand just as he started to pull the sketch from the tablet.
"Won't you give it to me, Bertie?" she asked.
He hesitated. "He'll find it."
"Indeed he will not. It will go into the bottom of my trunk."