“I believe I do,” said the young man, “and hope to be able to satisfy you.”

The young artist went home, and at once set to work upon the task he had undertaken.  He had conceived that it would be an easy one, but found himself mistaken.  Whether because his fancy was not sufficiently lively, or his mind was not in tune, he was unable to produce the effect he desired.  The faces which he successively outlined were all stiff, and though perhaps sufficiently regular in feature, lacked the great charm of being expressive and life-like.

“What is the matter with me?” he exclaimed, impatiently, throwing down his pencil.  “Is it impossible for me to succeed?  Well, I will be patient, and make one trial more.”

He made another trial, that proved as unsatisfactory as those preceding.

“It is clear,” he decided, “that I am not in the vein.  I will go out and take a walk, and perhaps while I am in the street something will strike me.”

He accordingly donned his coat and hat, and, descending, emerged into the great thoroughfare, where he was soon lost in the throng.  It was only natural that, as he walked, with his task still in his thoughts, he should scrutinize carefully the faces of such young girls as he met.

“Perhaps,” it occurred to him, “I may get a hint from some face I may see.  That will be better than to depend upon my fancy.  Nothing, after all, is equal to the masterpieces of Nature.”

But the young artist was fastidious.  “It is strange,” he thought, “how few there are, even in the freshness of childhood, that can be called models of beauty.  That child, for example, has beautiful eyes but a badly-cut mouth, Here is one that would be pretty, if the face was rounded out; and here is a child, Heaven help it! that was designed to be beautiful, but want and unfavorable circumstances have pinched and cramped it.”

It was at this point in the artist’s soliloquy that, in turning the corner of a street, he came upon Peg and Ida.

Henry Bowen looked earnestly at the child’s face, and his own lighted up with pleasure, as one who stumbles upon success just as he has despaired of it.

“The very face I have been looking for!” he exclaimed to himself.  “My flower-girl is found at last!”

He turned round, and followed Ida and her companion.  Both stopped at a shop-window to examine some articles which were exhibited there.  This afforded a fresh opportunity to examine Ida’s face.

“It is precisely what I want,” he murmured.  “Now the question comes up, whether this woman, who, I suppose, is the girl’s attendant, will permit me to copy her face.”

The artist’s inference that Peg was merely Ida’s attendant, was natural, since the child was dressed in a style quite superior to her companion.  Peg thought that in this way she should be more likely to escape suspicion when occupied in passing spurious coin.

The young man followed the strangely-assorted pair to the apartments which Peg occupied.  From the conversation which he overheard he learned that he had been mistaken in his supposition as to the relation between the two, and that, singular as it seemed, Peg had the guardianship of the child.  This made his course clearer.  He mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door.