“In your beautiful—”
“Don’t dare to say it, Sir!” cried the old man, shaking his finger.
“Place,” said Abel, quietly.
The old gentleman glared at him with a look of mixed surprise and suspicion. But the boy wore the same look of candor. He held his cap in his hand. His black hair fell around his handsome face. He was entirely calm, and behaved in the most respectful manner.
“What do you mean, Sir?” said Christopher Burt, in great perplexity, as he seated himself again, and drew a long breath.
“Simply, Sir, that I am very fond of sketching. My teacher says I draw very well, and I have had a great desire to draw your place, but I did not dare to ask permission. It is said in school, Sir, that you don’t like Mr. Gray’s boys, and I knew nobody who could introduce me. But to-day, as I came by, every thing looked so beautifully, and I was so sure that I could make a pretty picture if I could only get leave to come inside the grounds, that almost unconsciously I found myself coming up the avenue and ringing the bell. That’s all, Sir; and I’m sure I beg your pardon for troubling you so much.”
Mr. Burt listened to this speech with a pacified air. He was perhaps a little ashamed of his furious onslaughts and interruptions, and therefore the more graciously inclined toward the request of the young man.
So the old man said, with tolerable grace,
“Well, Sir, I am willing you should draw my house. Will you do it this afternoon?”
“Really, Sir,” replied Abel, “I had no intention of asking you to-day; and as I strolled out merely for a walk, I did not bring my drawing materials with me. But if you would allow me to come at any time, Sir, I should be very deeply obliged. I am devoted to my art, Sir.”