Part 76

“Don't--” began Percy. “There, see, you've knocked his elbow and spoilt it!”

“Oh no, he hasn't,” said Ben, putting down his pencil, and taking up a piece of rubber. “There, see it all comes out--as good as ever.”

“Isn't it just elegant?” said Percy in the most pleased tone, and wriggling his toes under the table to express his satisfaction.

“Yes,” said Van, craning his neck to get a better view of the picture, now nearly completed, “It's perfectly splendid. How'd you do it, Ben?”

“I don't know,” replied Ben with a smile, carefully shading in a few last touches. “It just drew itself.”

“Tisn't anything to what he can do,” said Polly, standing up as tall as she could, and beaming at Ben, “He used to draw most beautiful at home.”

“Better than this?” asked Van, with great respect and taking up the picture, after some demur on Percy's part, and examining it critically. “I don't believe it, Polly.”

“Phooh; he did!” exclaimed Joel, looking over his shoulder at a wonderful view of a dog in an extremely excited state of mind running down an interminable hill to bark at a locomotive and train of cars whizzing along a curve in the foreground. “Lots better'n that! Ben can do anything!” he added, in an utterly convincing way.

“Now give it back,” cried Percy, holding out his hand in alarm. “I'm going to ask mamma to have it framed; and then I'm going to hang it right over my bed,” he finished, as Van reluctantly gave up the treasure.

“Did you draw all the time in the little brown house?” asked Van, lost in thought. “How I wish I'd been there!”

“Dear, no!” cried Polly with a little skip, turning away to laugh. “He didn't have hardly any time, and--”

“Why not?” asked Percy.

“Cause there was things to do,” said Polly. “But sometimes when it rained, and he couldn't go out and work, and there wasn't anything to do in the house--then we'd have--oh!” and she drew a long breath at the memory, “such a time, you can't think!”

“Didn't you wish it would always rain?” asked Van, still gazing at the picture.

“Dear, no!” began Polly.

“I didn't,” broke in Joel, in horror. “I wouldn't a-had it rain for anything!--only once in a while,” he added, as he thought of the good times that Polly had spoken of.

“'Twas nice outdoors,” said little Davie, reflectively; “and nice inside, too.” And then he glanced over to his mother, who gave him a smile in return. “And 'twas nice always.”

“Well,” said Van, returning to the picture, “I do wish you'd tell me how to draw, Ben. I can't do anything but flowers,” he said in a discouraged way.

“Flowers aren't anything,” said Percy, pleasantly. “That's girls' work; but dogs and horses and cars--those are just good!”

“Will you, Ben?” asked Van, looking down into the big blue eyes, so kindly turned up to his.

“Yes, indeed I will,” cried Ben, “that is, all I know; 'tisn't much, but everything I can, I'll tell you.”

“Then I can learn, can't I?” cried Van joyfully.

“Oh, tell me too, Ben,” cried Percy, “will you? I want to learn too.”

“And me!” cried Dick, bending forward, nearly upsetting Phronsie as he did so. “Yes, say I may, Ben, do!”

“You're too little,” began Percy. But Ben nodded his head at Dick, which caused him to clap his hands and return to his original position, satisfied.

“Well, I guess we're going to, too,” said Joel. “Dave an' me; there isn't anybody goin' to learn without us.”

“Of course not,” said Polly, “Ben wouldn't leave you out, Joey.”

Phronsie sat quite still all this time, on the corner of the table, her feet tucked up under her, and her hands clasped in her lap, and never said a word. But Ben looking up, saw the most grieved expression settling on her face, as the large eyes were fixed in wonder on the faces before her.