"Only from the distance; I have not been there yet—perhaps I may next Sunday. It is a grand old building, my uncle tells me, and my little girl is simply charmed with the view from the churchyard."
"It is beautiful!" the boy cried. "You can see for miles and miles around from Haresdown Hill—the church is right at the top, you know. And the town looks so pretty in the valley, and the river—" He broke off abruptly, as though rather ashamed of his enthusiasm; and then added briefly, "But you'll see for yourself."
The artist nodded. He had taken a large size notebook from the side pocket of his overcoat, and was glancing through the pages of it.
"I am going to show you a sketch I made a few days ago," he said, smiling. "I wonder if you will be able to recognize the original!" And he handed the book open to Gilbert.
"Oh, I say, how awfully clever of you!" the boy exclaimed. "Oh, what a capital likeness!" With a few strokes of his pencil Mr. Willis had succeeded in depicting Miss Goodwin's little figure in her old-fashioned cloak and poke bonnet, with her waterproof over her arm.
"I am glad you see whom it is intended to represent," Mr. Willis said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "She was our first caller. I made that sketch of her from memory; of course it is a caricature, but not an unkindly one, I hope. She is a dear old soul!"
"Oh yes," Gilbert agreed. "Every one likes Miss Goodwin. This is a very good likeness of her, Mr. Willis—goloshes and all!"
It was wonderful how much better looking the boy's face appeared when he laughed, as he did at that moment. Mr. Willis told him he might look at the other sketches in the book if he liked, and as he turned over the pages, explained their contents to him.
"I wish I could draw like this," Gilbert said earnestly, as he at last closed the book and returned it to its owner. "I should so much like to be an artist; but father wants me to be a lawyer like himself, and—"
He broke off in the midst of the sentence as the sound of wheels was heard, and a pony-carriage driven by Mr. Bailey, drawn by a strong Exmoor pony, appeared in sight from the direction of the town.