cried the big man indignantly. "What's your name, little girl?"
"Pollyooly, sir," said Pollyooly, dropping a curtsey, like the well-mannered child she was; and she took the Lump's hand.
"Pollyooly, the Queen of the slum fairies," said the big man. "Well, I want a model for a set of fairy stories I'm illustrating; and you're the very model I want. Will you sit for me? You understand? I want to draw you."
"Would it take long, sir?" said Pollyooly, politely ready to oblige him.
"Three hours a day for about a month. I'll pay you a shilling an hour."
Pollyooly's eyes sparkled; the very mines of Golconda opened before them. Then her face fell; and she said, "But I have to look after the Lump—my little brother here."
"Bring him with you; he can play about the studio—it's large enough," said the big man; and he stooped and looked at him. "By Jove, it's a cherub—a genuine cherub. Look, James: did you ever see a finer cherub? Look at his dimples," he cried.
