CLARA WHEN he was twenty-three years old, Paul sent in a landscape to the winter exhibition at Nottingham Castle.

Miss Jordan had taken a good deal of interest in him, and invited him to her house, where he met other artists.

He was beginning to grow ambitious.
One morning the postman came just as he was washing in the scullery.
Suddenly he heard a wild noise from his mother.

Rushing into the kitchen, he found her standing on the hearthrug wildly waving a letter and crying "Hurrah!" as if she had gone mad.

He was shocked and frightened.
"Why, mother!" he exclaimed.
She flew to him, flung her arms round him for a moment, then waved the letter, crying: "Hurrah, my boy! I knew we should do it!" He was afraid of her--the small, severe woman with graying hair suddenly bursting out in such frenzy.