"
She was quicker of mind than he thought, and rose, taking his last remark
as a hint that he wished to be alone.
"Don't go, Joan, unless you must. I'm a very lonely man, and it is a great
pleasure to me to hear you talk. Look here."
She approached him, and he showed her a pencil sketch now perched on the
easel--a drawing considerably larger than that upon which he had been
working when she arrived.
"This is a rough idea of my picture. It is going to be much larger though,
and I have sent all the way to London for a canvas on which to paint it."
'"Twill be a gert big picksher then?"
"So big that I think I must try and get something into it besides the
gorse. I want something or other in the middle, just for a change. What
could I paint there?"
"I dunnaw."
"No more do I. I wonder how that little white pony tethered yonder would
do?"
Joan laughed.
"You'd never get the likes o' him to bide still for 'e."
"No, I'm afraid not; and I doubt if I'm clever enough to paint him either.
You see, I'm only a beginner--not like these clever artists who can draw
anything. Well, I must think: to-morrow is Sunday. I shall begin my big
picture on Monday if the weather keeps kind. I shall paint here, in the
open air. And I will bring your ship, too, if you care to take the trouble
to come for it."
"Yes, an' thank 'e, sir."
"Not at all. I owe you thanks. Just think if I had gone home with that
horrid blackthorn.
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