The man was sitting on the curb with a short pipe in his mouth--a handsome rascal of a fellow, evidently an Italian, with gold rings in his ears.

The woman, in peasant costume, looked heated and weary, and had a baby in her arms.
Both mother and child were painted from life.
"How beautiful!" whispered Anna, looking reverently at the giant beside her.
"It is one of your best pictures, Goliath," observed Malcolm, "but I suppose you do not intend to exhibit it next year ?" "Oh no," he returned, "it is already bespoken by a rich Australian.
Rainsford brought him here to see if he would give me an order, and he fell in love with my organ-grinders at once.

I had a sort of idea that I would keep it myself, for the sake of Verity and the kid; but with a family"-- here Amias smoothed his yellow moustache proudly--"one is bound to keep the pot boiling." "I did not want it to go," sighed Verity, who had just then sidled up to her husband--she looked a mere child beside him--"it is such a perfect likeness of Babs." And then she withdrew with the rebel, while the others made a turn round the studio; and Amias showed them sketches, and also a more important picture that was to be exhibited at the Royal Academy the following year.

Verity was the model again--this time as a sick gipsy girl lying on a heap of straw in a barn, while the caravan and encampment were painted most realistically, even to the old horse and shaggy donkey hobbled to the trunk of a tree, with a thin yellow cur near them.

When completed it would be a striking picture: the smoky sunset tints of a November afternoon were faithfully depicted; and a woodman's hut, just falling into decay, with golden lichen on the rotting roof, was marvellously painted.