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[Illustration: NEAR TWICKENHAM.]
Are any professional men so liable to public insults as painters? Only
last summer a new, and I think unique, type of insult was dropped upon
me. I had a picture in hand, and wanted a bit of background to complete
it. I had seen just the very thing near Twickenham, so, taking my
sketching-box and camp-stool, I trained out, and in due course started
work. Although I was painting by the side of a public road, the traffic
was small and the passers-by few. Still there _were_ passers-by, mostly
children, with their nurses or governesses. I am too used to being
looked at to take any notice of those who try to peep as they pass, and
I soon got quite absorbed in my task. Presently, I was aroused from my
artistic abstraction by a little girl dropping a penny in my box, and
before I had time to explain, expostulate, or thank her, she had run
away. "The world is less hard-hearted than I thought," was my reflection
as I resumed painting. A little while after this I noticed, during the
pauses of my work, another little girl hovering about me in an
undecided sort of way. After a few moments' indecision, _she_ dropped a
penny in my box and disappeared. "This is encouraging," I said to
myself, "I shall certainly come here again."
[Illustration: QUITE ABSORBED IN MY TASK.]
I resumed my sketch, when presently a young girl with two children came
and stood near me. These were of a different class. There was no
timidity or reticence about them. After standing at my side, and finding
that they could not see to advantage, the three sidled round to the
back, and gradually edged themselves nearer and nearer until they
commanded a satisfactory view of the sketch.
[Illustration: DROPPING A PENNY IN MY BOX.]
They watched in silence for awhile, and then the girl said--"You ain't
done much yet. 'Spose you're going to finish it at 'ome?"