"Well then, we will do it this way--the first day that Mr. King and I are
both away, and Tee Kee is gone, too; I'll slip out here and leave a letter
and a key on your gate. The letter will tell you just the time when we go,
and when we will return--so you will know whether it is safe for you or
not, and how long you can stay. Only"--he became very serious--"only, you
must promise one thing."

"What?"

"That you won't look at the picture on the easel."

"But why must I promise that?"

"Because that picture will not be finished for a long time yet, and you
must not look at it until I say it is ready. Mr. King wouldn't like you to
see that picture, I am sure. In fact, he doesn't like for any one to see
the picture he is working on just now."

"How funny," she said, with a puzzled look. "What is he painting it for? I
like for people to hear my music."

The man answered before he thought--"But I don't like people to read my
books."

She shrank back, with troubled eyes, "Oh! is he--is he _that_ kind of an
artist?"

"No, no, no!" exclaimed the novelist, hastily. "You must not think that. I
did not mean you to think that. If he was _that_ kind of an artist, I
wouldn't let you go into the studio at all. Mr. King is a good man--the