been good for months and months, and she gave me these. You can't paint with these things."
Mr. Eaton took the japanned box in his hands and opened it. "I know you can't," he said cheerfully. "I've tried. You scrub 'em and scrub 'em, don't you, and the color won't come off on the brush. They aren't even good colors. I wonder why they make them. I think they are supposed to be harmless if taken internally. In other words, their virtues are all negative. Is this where you come to draw?"
"Yes, sir," said Edward, who was now perfectly composed.
"Will you show me some of your drawings? I haven't asked before. Sometimes, when you're working at something you don't like to show it to people, you like to put that off until you are sure that you've done the best you can."
Edward un-covered a whole sheaf of drawings in their secret hiding-place and brought them to his father. This one seated himself in the one broken chair which the place afforded and began to examine them one by one.
Father's judgments were Edward's gospel. And the little boy stood with an anxious beating heart.
When Mr. Eaton had looked at the last draw-
