A bathing-place for pigeons is here too, and I have counted twenty-seven in it at once.

Here one day I found an artist at work on the head of an old man--a cunning old rascal with short-cropped grey hair, a wrinkled face packed with craft, and a big pipe.

The artist, a tall, bearded man, was painting with vigour, but without, so far as I could discern, any model; and yet it was obviously a portrait on which he was engaged and no work of invention.

After joining the crowd before the easel for a minute or so, I was passing on when a figure emerged from a cool corner where he had been resting and held out his hand.

He was a cunning old rascal with short-cropped grey hair, a wrinkled face packed with craft, and a big pipe; and after a moment's perplexity I recognized him as the model.