"I wonder how he will like my new picture," said Jimmy, a delicate boy of eight, whose refined features, thoughtful look, and high brow showed that his mind by no means shared the weakness of his body. Though only eight years of age he already manifested a remarkable¹ taste and talent for drawing, in which he had acquired surprising skill, considering that he had never taken lessons, but had learned all he knew from copying such pictures as fell in his way.

 

"Let me see your picture, Jimmy," said Mrs. Hoffman. "Have you finished it?"

 

She came up and looked over his shoulder. He had been engaged in copying a humorous picture from the last page of Harper's Weekly. It was an ambitious attempt on the part of so young a pupil, but he had succeeded remarkably² well, reproducing with close fidelity³ the grotesque⁴ expressions of the figures introduced in the picture.

 

"That is excellent, Jimmy," said his mother in warm commendation.

 

The little boy looked gratified.

 

"Do you think I will be an artist some day?" he asked.

 

"I have no doubt of it," said his mother, "if you can only obtain suitable instruction. However, there is plenty of time for that. You are only seven years old."

 

"I shall be eight to-morrow," said Jimmy, straightening up his slender form with the pride which every boy feels in advancing age.

 

"So you will. I had forgotten it."

 

"I wonder whether I can earn as much money as Paul when I get as old," said Jimmy thoughtfully. "I don't think I can. I shan't be half as strong."

 

"It isn't always the strongest who earn the most money," said his mother.

 

"But Paul is smart as well as strong."

 

"So are you smart. You can read unusually well for a boy of your age, and in drawing I think Paul is hardly your equal, though he is twice as old."

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