It was a dull, cold January afternoon, and though it was only three o'clock, he said the light was so dim that he nearly stumbled over the child.

She was sitting huddled up in the doorway of the studio, with an old red shawl over her head to protect her against the draughts, and a tiny black kitten was mewing piteously in her arms." "'Kitty's crying for her mother pussy,' she said, looking at him without the least shyness, 'but I want her to keep me company out here.
It is not kind of her to cry.'" "'But it is too cold for you and Kitty too,' observed Amias; 'you had better come in with me.' But the child shook her head." "'No, I durst not,' she whispered; 'daddy's drunk, and he is flinging things about so hard that Kitty and me might get hurt; so I am making believe we are the Prince and Princess in the enchanted forest.

Will you stop and play with me ?' and actually Amias--he was always a good fellow--squatted on the ground beside her and entered into the game.
From that day they were the best of friends, and he was Verity's favourite playmate.

On Sunday afternoons he took her out to feed the ducks in St.James's Park, or to watch the boys sail their boats on the pond in Kensington Gardens.

He was only a poor art student, but he would forego a meal cheerfully to provide some little treat for his protegee.