“Then let’s hurry just that little way,” said Rose.

She clasped Polly’s hand, and again they ran on, and after a few moments, Lester cried:  “There it is!”

Sure enough!  There was the clump of holly-hocks, and close beside it, the little green door.

CHAPTER VI

AT THE STUDIO

“Good-bye, good-bye!” they cried to Lester, “and thank you, oh thank you, but we must hurry!”

Lester waved his cap to them, and then raced down the avenue.

Then, treading softly, they ran along the little path, past the holly-hocks, and—­the little green door was closed.

“Oh, Rose!” gasped Polly, but Rose had grasped the knob, and found that while the door looked to be closed, it had only been swung to with the breeze.

She pushed it open, and noiselessly they entered.

Softly they crept across the floor, Polly clinging to Rose’s hand, and when they had reached the little divan, they sat down, and for a moment, neither spoke.

They still clasped hands, and when Polly looked toward the doorway that led into the large studio, Rose looked that way too.

From where they sat, they could not see either the painter or his model.

Polly leaned toward Rose.

“Doesn’t he ever talk when he’s painting?” she whispered.

Rose shook her head.

“I ’most always bring a book with me, and while Aunt Lois is posing, I read stories,” she whispered in reply.

Then for a time neither spoke.

The old clock out in that other room ticked to prove that all was not silent, but it made the waiting children more lonely.

They could not see its face, but after what seemed a long time, it chimed a single note.

“Oh, dear!  That’s only a half hour.  I thought it was going to strike,” whispered Rose, “and then we’d have known what time it was.”

“Don’t you dare to go in there, just a little way, and peep at the clock?  It’s just around the corner,” whispered Polly.

“I promised we wouldn’t disturb him while he was painting,” whispered Rose, “but I do b’lieve I’ll have to soon.  I’m just wild to see if he’s beginning to put away his paints.”

“There isn’t the least sound as if he was putting away anything” said Polly.

“I’ll just have to look,” said Rose, whispering as softly as before.  “We’re awfully tired waiting, and keeping so still.  It will help some to know what time it is, and if he sees me looking at the clock, perhaps he’ll say he’s ’most ready to stop painting.”

She slipped from the divan, and tip-toed to the doorway, pushed the heavy hanging aside just enough to permit her to pass through.  The portiere dropped heavily behind her, and Polly listened—­listened.

“Oh, I hope he won’t be angry.  He ought not to after we’ve waited so long, but he’s a great artist, and I s’pose Rose is disturbing him.  I hope he won’t scold.  I didn’t really tell her to go in and look at the clock, but I didn’t tell her not to,” thought Polly.