Fluttering over the grass, at the mercy of the capricious breeze, was a neglected sheet of drawing-paper.

Francine ran round the pond, and picked up the paper just as it was on the point of being tilted into the water.

It contained a sketch in water colors of the village and the woods, and Francine had looked at the view itself with indifference--the picture of the view interested her.

Ordinary visitors to Galleries of Art, which admit students, show the same strange perversity.

The work of the copyist commands their whole attention; they take no interest in the original picture.
Looking up from the sketch, Francine was startled.