The Magic Painter a7

He began to work again, and once more
the child was amazed at his rapidity.
“Fond of singing?” he asked, pleasantly,
without glancing in her direction.

“Tm going to have a really good
soprano one of these days,” said Doris.
“At present I can’t sing very loudly, but
that’s rather lucky, for I sing to myself a
good deal when they make me go to bed.
I was singing to-night. . . .” She paused,
for the daylight was streaming in through
the skylight, and she was not very certain
about the time. ‘‘I was singing last time
I went to bed,” she continued, ‘‘to keep
myself from thinking.”

“Ah,” cried the painter, ‘you've found
it a good thing for that, have you? I
find there’s no plan like it. Now, if you
would sing me one of your carols I should
paint the quicker, and you would forget
that you were sitting.” Doris began to
sing at once. A thing which puzzles her
to this day is that the song she sang was
not one of the carols that were being sung