“I’m going to ask you to sit up top,” said Mr. Cole, emerging from the studio with an easel tucked under one arm and a paint-box in his hand. “It’ll be cooler there, I guess, and the light’s better than down here.” He led the way up the steps and Harry followed. “Now just make yourself comfortable for a moment, please. You’ll find that big rocker fairly easy, and there are some magazines on the table. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He swung himself down the steps in two strides, and Harry heard him singing to himself in his mellow bass as he moved about underneath. Obediently she picked up a magazine from the willow table and perched herself in the big green rocker, but it was far more interesting to look around her than to study the pages of the magazine. It was so pretty up here. The bright rugs underfoot echoed the colors of the blossoms in the boxes around the edge. The faded awning overhead filtered the ardent sunlight to a soft, mellow glow. Framed by the flowers and the fluttering scallops of the canopy was a picture of blue water aglint in the sunlight, a purple-shadowed shore and a green hill arising to the fleece-flecked sky. It promised to be a very warm day, but as yet the morning breeze still stole up the river. The door of the little pilot-house was open and Harry could see the steering-wheel with its brass hub and rim, a little shelf of folded charts and several gleaming brass switches and pulls which she supposed connected with the engine-room. At that moment the artist climbed the stairs again, a clean creamy-white canvas and a bunch of brushes in one hand and a white box in the other. He handed the box to Harry.
“I pay in advance, you see,” he said smilingly.
“Oh,” said Harry in concern, as she opened the box and glanced at the name on the lid, “you had to go ’way down to the Cove for this! You oughtn’t to have done that, Mr. Cole!”
“What? Why, it’s no more than a mile, I’m sure; just a nice after-breakfast row. I enjoyed it, really. But I’m afraid the candy isn’t very good. However, you probably know what to expect; you doubtless know all about Silver Cove confectionery.”
As he talked he set up his easel at one side of the deck, got out his palette and began to squeeze wonderful blots of color on to it.
“It’s very nice candy,” answered Harry earnestly. “Won’t—won’t you have some?”
Mr. Cole glanced at his hands, the fingers of which were already stained with paint, and hesitated. Then:
“Suppose you feed me a piece,” he said. He came over to her and leaned down with his mouth open.