there a basis of fact for the palpable fiction? Helen had never read "The Children of the Abbey."
"Annabel," said the young teacher severely, a minute later, "are you telling me the truth?"
"I thought that was what he said," answered Annabel mournfully. "I didn't hear it all. Anyhow, I often hear him talking to your picture."
Miss Wistar's mouth was more stern than her eyes.
"Mr. Stanton hasn't my picture. He couldn't possibly have it unless I gave it to him."
The child hesitated for a minute. When she spoke, her voice almost carried conviction to herself as well as to Miss Wistar.
"He painted it, I guess. It's a little bit of a one. I see it every morning when I dust."
Life had begun to play havoc with Helen's work. Her mission turned into a long reverie. When she drew, her fingers trembled. Then she stopped and watched the sunshine, her eyes full of dreams.
