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later. He didn't want them posed, he watched them as they
worked around the farm and did quick sketches that he finished in the winter. There was the
Hosmer dad, and mother, and five kids. Three boys and two girls. Funny I should think of that
now.
    My favorite painting of his--oh, the mother's mother lived with them too--was one of the
girls picking raspberries in their little patch with the grandma. The girl was about six. She had a
little pail with a wire handle on it like her grandma's. Her face, in the picture, had a little
raspberry juice on her lips, and the most self-satisfied smile. A comfortable thing she was there,
in the patch with her grandma. All to herself. The grandma had white hair that was kinda twirly
'round her head. She wore a flowered dress, and boots, and her berry pail hooked onto the old
leather belt she had around her waist. She's looking into the bush and reaching to get a berry
from the middle.
    I loved that picture. It was inside their front door and sometimes I'd look at it and I'd be
the grandma, and sometimes I'd be the little girl. It was cool in the bush and hot on our heads.
David was good at faces, though he didn't think so.
    Down by the water one day I was looking for more sand dollars to use as models for my
quilt. But I was picking up everything else that wasn't broke when I saw David waving at me to
come over. My apron was full of the shells so I walked rather than ran over to him like I wanted
to.
    The sand underfoot was white and dry. It squeaked as I crossed it. Gulls and crows were
flying up and down the beach, looking to be more playing than seriously hunting for food. When
I got to David he untied my apron so I could put the shells down. His face was a sight. His nose
was sunburned and peeling. His reddish hair was windblown and sticking up every which way.
To me he was the prettiest thing on the beach.
    Something had him excited. After taking off my apron he lifted me up on a stump and
with his arm around my waist to steady me, he pointed out to sea. I was more aware of his
closeness and his hand at my waist than of where he was pointing, but as I looked I saw what he
was so excited about.
    There were three whales playing in the ocean, big, long gray things. The calm sea
allowed us see them more clearly than was usual, plus they were closer than the ones I was used
to seeing from my window.
    "I think those are called gray whales," David said, "Gosh, aren't they grand?"
    They were spouting and diving and looked to be having fun. It made us both giggly.
Maybe being so close together had something to do with it, too. He had to hold me tight to keep
me from falling, and finally I had to get off the stump before I fell off it.
    We sat down in the warm sand. As we talked he played with it, piling it into mounds,
then smoothing them flat. Dribbling handfuls of sand, he made designs while asking me about
the shells I'd gathered.
    "You have so many, going into business or something?" Did he think I was greedy, or
silly? I explained about my nieces and nephews, and off-handedly told him about the quilt. He
was interested.
    "But, David, the center is to be a piece-over of Haystack Rock, and I've tried, and tried,
and I can't copy it."
    "Sophie, would you mind...?" His face was bright with an idea, plus the sunburn. "One
artist shouldn't interfere with another..."
    An artist? Me? I would have laughed, but he was so serious I just smiled. "But we can
help one another. What if I draw it for you?"
    I didn't expect his help. "Oh David, you shouldn't waste your time."
    His blue eyes were earnest, "I'd like very much to do it."
    "Okay. If you insist. I'd really like some help," I said. I'll admit that I wanted more than
just his help. I wanted the drawing, yes, but because he would be thinking of me while he did it.
To know that David was thinking just of me and doing something just for me was a pleasure I
wanted very much.
    Plus I was flattered. The family always took my quilts for granted, or