"Two loaves of stale bread, if you please." "You have a fine picture here, madam," he said while she was getting the bread.

"Yes?" said Miss Martha. "I love art and (she could not say "artists") and paintings," she added. "You think it is a good picture, do you?"

"The palace," said the man, "is not in good drawing. The perspective of it is not true. Good morning, madam."

He took his bread and hurried out.

Yes, he must be an artist. Miss Martha took the picture back to her room.

How kind his eyes were behind his spectacles! What a broad forehead⁹ he had! To be an artist — and to live on stale bread! But a genius¹⁰ often has to struggle before it is recognized.

How good would it be for art if a genius was helped by two thousand dollars in the bank, a bakery, and a kind heart too — but these were only dreams.

Often now when he came, he talked for some time with Miss Martha. And he continued buying stale bread, never anything else.

She thought he was looking thin. She wanted to add something good to eat to his bread, but she had no courage¹¹ to do it. She knew about artists' pride¹².

Miss Martha began to wear her best blue silk blouse almost every day. In the room behind the shop she cooked some mixture¹³ for her face.