102. A DOG OF FLANDERS.

Now, he had a secret which only
Patrasche knew. There was a little
out-house to the hut, which no one
entered but himself,— a dreary place,
but with abundant clear light from
the north. Here he had fashioned
himself rudely an easel in rough
lumber, and here, on a great gray
sea of stretched paper, he had given
shape to one of the innumerable
fancies which possessed his brain.
No one had ever taught him any-.
thing; colors he had no means to
buy: he had gone without bread .
many a time to procure even the few ..
rude vehicles that he had here; and
it was only in black or white that he
could fashion the things he saw.
This great figure which he had drawn