"I'm sure it would answer.

I painted Hodge with it, and could scarcely see him at all from a distance." "I believe you paint yourself," says Raby, laughing, "and that's why the men can't find you." Percy is pleased at this, and takes it as a recognition of his genius.
He has great faith in his own discovery, and it is everything to him to find some one else believing in it too.
"If you like to come to the river to-morrow, I'll show you something," says he condescendingly.

"It licks the paint into fits!" "Raby will be busy in the village to-morrow," says her aunt.

"What is it you are doing at the river ?" "Oh, ah!" solemnly responds the son, whose year at a public-school has not taught him the art of speaking respectfully to his parents; "wouldn't you like to know ?" "I wish you'd play somewhere else, dear.

It makes me so uneasy when you are down by the river." "Play!" says Percy rather scornfully; "I don't play there--I work!" "I fear you are neglecting one sort of work for another, my boy," says Mr Rimbolt; "we never got through Virgil yet, you know--at least, you didn't.