Page:Keeping the Peace.pdf/125

 pose he had first given his attention to the anatomy of that particular kind of leaf.

For a little boy who intended to be a minister to develop a passion for drawing Saints and Christs and Madonnas and bambini seemed normal enough to Mrs. Eaton and beyond censure. And if a little too much realistic blood sometimes flowed from the arrow wounds of his Saint Sebastians, she overlooked it. It wasn't quite nice; it would have been as well to have stuck the arrows in the Saint as one sticks pins in a cushion or cloves in a ham, but the main thing was that he had chosen to depict a Saint.

One day he tackled the three Marys and outdid himself. He made a drawing full of faults, no doubt, but filled also with grace and a certain flowing quality achieved by the sweetness and cleanness of the lines. And he knew at once that he had drawn better than he had ever drawn before.

He hid his masterpiece away until the next day, which was Dear Mother's birthday, and when she was alone after breakfast he presented it to her, with an assortment of well chosen and propitiating lies.

"I drew it especially for you, Dear Mother, for your birthday," he said, "and it's the nicest one I've ever done. It's the three blessed Marys, Dear Mother; and see, I didn't have to hide their