He began to talk of his painting.
"What's the good," exclaimed the mother, "of your whittling and worrying and twistin' and too-in' at that painting of yours?
What GOOD does it do you, I should like to know?
You'd better be enjoyin' yourself." "Oh, but," exclaimed Paul, "I made over thirty guineas last year." "Did you! Well, that's a consideration, but it's nothing to the time you put in." "And I've got four pounds owing.

A man said he'd give me five pounds if I'd paint him and his missis and the dog and the cottage.

And I went and put the fowls in instead of the dog, and he was waxy, so I had to knock a quid off.

I was sick of it, and I didn't like the dog.

I made a picture of it.