"You have made a good purchase, my child," said the portly gentleman,
"and were you not the daughter of the artist, I would not have let you
outbid me."

The assembled people wished the children luck; and taking the picture,
which was not large, both sisters hurried out of the gallery.

"O mother," they cried, as they entered the neat little living room of
their home, "we have had great good luck. The wish you have so long
expressed is at last fulfilled. See, here is a picture painted by our
beloved father."

The mother looked at it for a long time in deep silence, and at last
broke forth in tears of joy and homesick longing.

"Yes," said she, "the picture is his, though I cannot remember ever
having seen him work at it. But I know his art, his beautiful thoughts
and his delicate colorings. It is an exquisite landscape. Notice the
evening glow over the wooded hill, behind which the sun has just
disappeared; the huts, from whose chimneys the light-blue smoke ascends;
the distant village, with the old church tower which the last rays of
the declining sun still illumine; and the rosy, hazy light which spreads
over all. It is beautiful beyond description, and stirs within me
memories of the past. Such scenes have I ofttimes viewed in company with
your father. But how did you ever get this picture?"

Lottie related the incidents leading up to its purchase, and said:
"Louise and I are perfectly willing to wear our old clothes."