AND while the Music of the Heart was making incessant melody for Paul and the Duchessa, the Small Boy with drooping wings was still sitting disconsolate in the corner of Aurora’s studio. His arrows being useless he had tried whispering secrets to her, but delightful whispers of flower-scented nights, country lanes aglow with wild roses, kisses, and even cuddling babies fell on deaf ears. She heard nothing but the call of the false goddess whom she had erected in the place of the glorious goddess who sits so near to Nature.  
One day early in June Aurora was in a particularly dissatisfied mood. The model, Tilly, who posed not only for Barnabas, but for many other studios, had been distinctly rude that afternoon.
 
Aurora had found inspiration lacking, and had told Tilly she could go. It had been the signal for a tirade on Tilly’s part. She had spoken her mind freely, with contemptuous words regarding artists who achieved nothing, and whose pictures, even when completed, were so incomprehensible that they could find no place in any gallery. Aurora had told Tilly not to come near her studio again. But her words had held a sting which hurt. Aurora was near tears.
 
Then she remembered that Alan was coming to tea that afternoon and bringing Barnabas with him. She dried her tears on her painting-apron and put the kettle on the hob.
 
And perhaps it was the suspicion of tears that Barnabas saw when he and Alan arrived, or perhaps it was an imploring whisper from the discordant Boy, or perhaps it was merely the sunshine and his own exuberant spirits, but, at any rate, he had, what the Boy considered, a heaven-born inspiration.
 
“I think,” he said suddenly, addressing himself to the square patch of blue seen through skylight, “that studios are distinctly stuffy this weather. Let’s all go and paint out of doors a bit—be vagabond artists.” The thought of Kostolitz came into his mind with the words.
 
“Permanently?” asked Alan, “or by the day?”
 
“Oh, for about three weeks or so,” said Barnabas. “You, Aurora, Dan, and me. I’ll make Dan come too. I’ll hire a coster cart and donkey to carry our painting materials, a few provisions, and a small tent for Aurora to sleep in. We three can sleep in the open. Let’s,” ended Barnabas slyly, “study Art in Nature.”
 
“The symbolism of Nature,” murmured Alan dreamily.
 
 
“Or Nature without the symbolism,” said Aurora. “I’m tired of symbolism.” Her voice was almost petulant.
 
The Small Boy in the corner perked up. Barnabas grinned gently.
 
“To-day,” he announced, “is Tuesday. Let us start on Thursday.”
 
“Yes,” said Aurora firmly, “I want to get away from everything.” Her eyes took in the studio and her own High Art productions in a comprehensive sweep. “For a time,” she added, seeing that Alan was looking reproachful.
 
Barnabas promulgated a few further ideas on the subject, and they all three studied a large cycling map of Aurora’s which had small country lanes plainly marked on it.
 
“Bring the map,” said Barnabas, as he rose to take his leave. “And Thursday, remember, at my studio, at ten o’clock.”
 
He went round to see Miss Mason that evening to tell her of the plan. Pippa, in a purple dressing-gown, listened entranced. She had been given a quarter of an hour’s grace from bed on account of Barnabas’ arrival.
 
“So,” ended Barnabas, “on Thursday at ten o’clock we start off to study Nature. I’ve already hired a donkey and cart. To-morrow I buy a tent and a few other things.”
 
Pippa gave a huge sigh.
 
“How lovely!” she said. “Just you, and [Pg 184]Monsieur Dan, and Monsieur Alan, and Mademoiselle Aurora. Just you four. I s’pose ze tent will be quite tiny. Only just big enough for Mademoiselle Aurora. Not a teeny bit more room in it. Not even enough room for Mimsi”—Mimsi was the grey ............