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again before his easel. He eyed the charcoal and the canvas. Then he half closed his eyes and squinted at the apple-trees. As this didn't seem to produce the desired inspiration, he curled his fingers together as he had seen folks do in a picture gallery and looked through. "Ah," he murmured, "I think I see a tree."
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Presently Prudence glanced toward
him.
"Mr. Fallon, are you doing a portrait this morning?"
"Oh, no," he answered, confusedly "A landscape."
"Then don't you think it might help you if you looked at the landscape instead of me?"
"I—I was thinking," he said, apologetically.
She looked at the empty canvas and then at him.
