"Let me see some of your sketches," begged Adela. "It's so nice to find some one else who can draw. Do show me some."
"Oh, no," protested Jasper, in dismay, "not after this," pointing to
Adela's drawing.
"Do, Jasper," begged Polly, imploringly, "get your portfolio."
"Oh, I couldn't bring them all in," said Jasper. "I wouldn't show those old things for the world, Polly."
"Well, bring some of them, do," she begged, while Adela said, "I showed mine, and I didn't want to, I'm sure." So Jasper ran up to his room, and pretty soon he came back with his portfolio.
"You did bring it, after all," exclaimed Polly, in satisfaction, patting the brown leather cover. "Oh, how nice of you, Jasper," as they ran over and ensconced themselves in a cosey corner.
"I took out the worst ones," said Jasper, with a laugh. "And I'm awfully sorry I didn't leave behind more of the others."
"I hope you brought that woman with a basket of vegetables we saw at the market the other day," said Polly, as he opened the portfolio. "Do tell me, Jasper, you did bring that, didn't you?" beginning to fumble through the pile.
"Yes, I did, Polly," said Jasper; "she's in there all safe and sound."
So for the next hour, there was great turning over and comparing of sketches, and much talk about vertical lines and graceful curves, and shading and perspective, and expression, and dear knows what all, as the three heads bent over the portfolio. So intent were they all, that no one heard Grandpapa come in, and he sat there in a farther corner, for a good quarter of an hour. At last Polly looked up and saw him.