“It’s all right. If it’s good for me to try and walk, I will,” said Martin, and got off the couch. He put his right foot gingerly to the floor and then stood up. “Not so bad after all!” he said. He limped across the room to a bookcase. He put his hand behind the second row of books and brought out a cardboard case, big and flat. He took it to the table. He opened it and spread out some pictures.

“Gracious!” said Anne. “They’re beautiful! Did you really do these?”

They were queer pictures for a boy to draw, for they were of flowers and trees, birds and butterflies — all drawn and coloured most perfectly, every detail put in lovingly.

Julian looked at them in surprise. This boy was certainly gifted. Why, these drawings were as good as any he had ever seen in exhibitions! He picked a few up and took them to the window.

“Do you mean to say your father doesn’t think these are good — doesn’t think it’s worth while to let you train as an artist?” he said, in surprise.

“He hates my pictures,” said Martin, bitterly. “I ran away from school, and went to an art-school to train — but he found me and forbade me to think of drawing any more. He thinks it’s a weak, feeble thing for a man to do. So I only do it in secret now.”

The children looked at Martin with sympathy. It seemed an awful thing to them that a boy who had no mother, should have a father who hated the thing his son most loved. No wonder he always looked dull and miserable and sullen!

“It’s very bad luck,” said Julian at last. “I wish we could do something to help.”

“Well — get me those figures and the paint tins from the coastguard,” said Martin, eagerly. “Will you? Father won’t be back till six. I’ll have time to do them. And do stay and have tea with me. It’s so dull up here. I hate it.”

“Yes, I’ll get the things for you,” said Julian. “I can’t for the life of me see why you shouldn’t have something to amuse yourself with if you want to. And we’ll ring up my aunt and tell her we’re staying here to tea — so long as we don’t eat everything you’ve got!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Martin, looking very cheerful indeed. “There’s plenty of food in the house. My father has an enormous appetite. I say, thanks most awfully.”

Julian rang up his aunt. The girls and Dick went to fetch the figures and the paint from the coastguard. They brought them back and arranged them on a table beside Martin. His eyes brightened at once. He seemed quite different.

“This is grand,” he said. “Now I can get on! It’s a silly little job, this, but it will help the old man next door, and I’m always happy when I’m messing about with a brush and paints!”