I couldn't tell red from green on my palette, so no wonder the fields and everything else looked all the same colour.

And yet what provokes one is the feeling that an artist would have made a sketch of it somehow.

The view is really beautiful." "And that is really beautiful," said Eleanor, pointing to the birch group and its background.

"And what a mess I have made of it! I wish I'd stuck to pencil.

And yet, as you say, an artist would have got a picture out of it." "I'll tell you what," said Jack, who was lying face downwards with my picture spread before him, "I believe that any one who knew the dodges, when he saw that everything looked one pale, yellowish, brownish tint with the glare of the sun, would have boldly taken a weak wash of all the drab-looking colours in his box right over everything, picked out a few stones in his foreground wall, dodged in a few shadows and so on, and made a clever sketch of it.