He jumped at my offer, and in the event my rashness--for I had really known nothing about him--wasn't brought home to me.

He proved a sympathetic though a desultory ministrant, and had in a wonderful degree the SENTIMENT DE LA POSE.

It was uncultivated, instinctive, a part of the happy instinct that had guided him to my door and helped him to spell out my name on the card nailed to it.

He had had no other introduction to me than a guess, from the shape of my high north window, seen outside, that my place was a studio and that as a studio it would contain an artist.

He had wandered to England in search of fortune, like other itinerants, and had embarked, with a partner and a small green hand-cart, on the sale of penny ices.