But he knew, too, that he had gained wonderfully, during the summer, and that he was gaining now, every day.

To Billy he said nothing of all this.

Even to himself he scarcely put his hope into words; but in his heart he knew that what he was really painting his "Mother and Child" picture for was the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in March--if he could but put upon canvas the vision that was spurring him on.
And so Bertram worked all through those short winter days, not always upon the one picture, of course, but upon some picture or sketch that would help to give his still uncertain left hand the skill that had belonged to its mate.

And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on victory, was Billy, so that even had Bertram been tempted, sometimes, to give up, he could not have done so--and faced Billy's grieved, disappointed eyes.

And when at last his work was completed, and the pictured mother and child in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed ready to step from the canvas, Billy drew a long ecstatic breath.
"Oh, Bertram, it _is_, it is the best work you have ever done." Billy was looking at the baby.