Willie Mortimer was a cripple, but he did not often complain of his lot, nor, as a rule, did he feel very unhappy about it. His love for drawing and painting was such a resource to him, that when he could hobble on his crutches down to the shore, he was never tired of watching the sea and the boats, and of trying to make sketches which he could work up into pictures at home, as he sat in the window of the little cottage.

But it was a year since the accident which had made the amputation of his leg a necessity, and for the first time Willie's cheerfulness was beginning to forsake him. He could not help noticing how worn and anxious his mother looked, and he knew how hard it was for her to earn enough money, by her plain sewing, to keep up the little house. Until the previous summer she had let lodgings, but she could not manage it when she was nursing Willie, and waiting on him after he left the hospital, and this year no people had applied for her rooms yet.

One of her former lodgers had been an artist, and it was he who, being struck with Willie's talent, had given him instruction, and taught him all he knew about art. But the boy was now thirsting for more knowledge. If only he could be trained to be an artist! That was his dream, and often he would sit at his little window, looking over the blue waters of the bay, while his eyes would fill with tears as he thought how impossible it was for a little ignorant boy to paint pictures which would have any beauty.

His pathetic face attracted Dora and Elsie Vaughan as they passed the cottage every day. They were having a perfectly lovely time in this Devonshire village, where their father had taken a house for the summer holidays. Mr. Vaughan was a celebrated artist, and Willie would watch him eagerly as he passed with his canvas and sketching materials, and would long for a sight of the pictures which would soon be so famous.

'That poor little cripple boy does look sad,' Dora said to her sister. 'I think we ought to go and visit him and take him some flowers.'

'But he is not always a prisoner,' Elsie answered. 'I see him on the beach sometimes with his crutches, and he is often trying to sketch boats and things.'

'Anyway it must be dull for him, and we might cheer him up a little,' Dora persisted.

'It is rather tiresome, though, when there are such heaps of lovely things to do, and the holidays do fly so quickly,' Elsie argued, for she was not as unselfish as her sister, and did not much care to give up her own pleasure.

However, Dora had her way, for Elsie knew from former experience that if she were really set on a thing, it saved trouble to give in at once and make the best of it. She even found a box of chocolates not quite empty, and with the sweets that were left, and some of Dora's, was able to fill a smaller box. Then they begged some cakes from the cook, and hunted up a couple of story-books from the number they had brought with them, and in the end had quite a well-filled basket for Elsie to carry. Dora picked a bunch of roses and then they set out for the cottage.

When they arrived Willie was sitting before his easel, looking sadly at his latest attempt at a picture, and thinking how poor it was compared with the scene his imagination painted. He was so shy and so much overcome by the honour of their visit that he could hardly find words to welcome them, but the girls' exclamations of delight when they saw his picture soon set him at ease.

'How lovely!' Dora cried. 'Did you really paint it yourself?'

'I have watched you sketching on the beach, but I never thought you were so clever,' Elsie told him, and Willie blushed with pleasure at their praise.

Then he opened the box on which his painting materials stood, and showed them all the pictures and sketches he had done in the past year.

'You see, Miss,' he said to Dora, 'now I cannot get about much, it passes the time; but I do wish I had somebody to tell me all the faults in them, and help me to do better.'

'We must bring Father to see them; he will not be backward about pointing out faults,' said Elsie, laughing, 'though I cannot find any myself.'

'But Mr. Vaughan is such a great artist, he would never look at my poor little pictures,' Willie said, flushing at the very thought.

'He may be a great artist, but he is a very kind father,' Elsie told him, 'and he nearly always does what we ask him.'

Certainly he did not disappoint his daughters this time. Moreover, he was amazed at the progress the boy had made with so little help, and saw that he was worth training.

'Your son has great natural talent,' he said to Willie's mother. 'I am even inclined to think he may be a genius. You must allow me to make it easy for him to be trained in the best schools.'

And so poor crippled Willie, instead of being a burden to his mother, became her pride and joy, beginning a career which was one day to make him even more famous than the artist who had given him a helping hand.

M. H.