84 “THESE THREE.”

By and by came another along the garden walk,
and she saw it too. She was a bird of passage at
the rectory, the old folks’ granddaughter.

*““Tt’s perfect !” cried she, clapping her hands
when she had rushed through the gate to see what
was to be seen in the shed.

And it certainly was the most striking bit of
** still life” she had ever seen since her master had
set her to colour such things. In general, you
-know, people have to make a picturesque disorder
for themselves. They must fetch a pan from the
kitchen, a broken jar from the scullery, a torn
napkin from the linen closet, and a stained hat
from the garden scarecrow, and arrange them as
carelessly as they can. But here there was a
group ready made; she had only to fetch her
paper and sketch it down—which she did. The
shadow at the back of the shed threw out the tea-
box and flower-pot in bold relief, and the sunshine
tipped the moss with an emerald fire. It was so
in the scene, and she put it so on the paper. It
was beautiful. |

“Very beautiful!” exclaimed the grandmother