They spent the whole afternoon trying to mix paints. Some were successful and produced lively vivid colors, and others just turned into a muddy brown or produced no color at all and were lumpy and unusable.
At the end of their efforts, they assessed their paints and had assembled only a few useful ones. George was disappointed. “We have more work to do. The soil and ground rock samples made the best colors. Might we go looking for more?”
“We can try. But it would seem to me your best solution would be to persuade some adult to buy you some readymade paints in a proper art store—if such a thing exists.”
“In London perhaps,” George mused. “But I have an idea. I believe paints can be ordered by mail. And if I can get some cash in hand, I might be able to find the address of a store in an art periodical and order them myself.”
“What a splendid idea!” Lucy exclaimed.
They spent the rest of the afternoon working on the studio—well, George did. Lucy was not able to do much lifting, so she let her friend manage the heavy pieces while she gazed dreamily out the window.
Finally, the space was to George’s liking, and he stood in the middle of his studio, looked around and said, “You know what I am missing?
“I have no idea.”
“An easel and canvasses to paint on,” he said thoughtfully.
“What about the art store where you are going to get your paints?”
George waggled his head. “We are talking about a substantial sum of money for all of these things. I do not have that.”
“Maybe you could make an easel. And what about using pieces of wood to paint on,” she asked. “And what about me?”
“What about you?”
“Where is my desk?”
“Why would you want a desk?”
“I am thinking I might want to write. I keep imagining stories I would like to tell. And with all the reading I have been doing, I do not see why I should not give it a try.”
“You want a desk up here?”
“I could write while you paint. Besides, you are going to need something to paint. You could paint me while I work.”
“Hmm. Not a bad idea. Come, I have an idea for the easel, and I think I know where there is a spare table. It would not be a proper desk, but I do not see why it would not work for you.”
“What are your mother and father going to say when they find out what you are doing out here?” she asked thoughtfully.
“I am not going to tell them.”
“And you think they will not find out?”
George gave her a big smile, saying, “This is my secret weapon.”
Lucy looked at him expecting more. “What? What is the secret weapon?”
He gave her a large grin again. “This,” he said pointing to his face. “No one can resist this gorgeous smile. I will always get my way.”
Lucy guffawed. “Just you wait.”
* * *
Betsy and Lucy were in the blue parlor sitting at a table by the window working together on a jigsaw puzzle. Lucy was on her knees on a chair leaning on the table and pointing to a piece with one finger, and then directing Betsy to where the piece fitted.
“Will you go swinging with me later?” Betsy asked. “I will push you if you will push me.”
“But it is such a hot day,” Lucy commented. “Maybe after supper when it is cooler.”
