Raymond made a little money by drawing pictures for a cheap periodical, and with this he bought materials for his darling pursuit. Madge watched him and gloried in him, and dusted the rooms, and laid the table for meals, and mended his clothes, and thought hopefully of the time when Raymond should be a famous painter, and she should leave the dingy London lodging and live in the fresh breezy country which her brother told her about.
Madge was not beautiful; her little face was sallow and pinched: but she had two pretty things about her. One was her hair, which was of a rich warm brown colour, with a dash of chestnut in it, and when unbound it fell in ripples nearly to her feet; the other was her eyes—large, lustrous, brown eyes—with an intense earnestness in them, seldom to be seen in one so young. These eyes appeared in every one of Raymond's pictures, for they haunted him.
"Now, Raymond, come to breakfast," Madge said when she had finished making the toast.
He did not appear to hear her, for he went to a little distance and surveyed his picture with his head on one side.
Madge poured out the tea, and then came over to him, laid her hand on his which held the brush, and said entreatingly, "Come."
"Well, it is too bad," he said laughingly, "first to make you roast your face, and then to keep you from eating your breakfast;" and he laid down his brush and pallette and came to the table; but he ate hurriedly and soon returned to his work.
Madge put away the things and brought her sewing to the window, where she sat all the morning watching Raymond's busy fingers. Then she went out to the colour-shop at the end of the next street, to buy something which her brother wanted, and to see if the picture he had left there was sold.
Alas! it was still in the window along with several others; a few butchers' boys, working-men, and ragged little girls were eagerly pressing their faces against the glass looking at the pictures, but none of them were likely to be purchasers. Raymond's picture was called "The Welcome." There was a cottage room, and an open door, through which a working man was coming in, while a little girl sprang to meet him. The girl had Madge's eyes; but no one in that wondering throng knew that. They were saying how well the workman's dress and the tools which he carried were done.
BUSY FINGERS.