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Not that she was good enough to sell anything. She just loved to draw. Coming to the market was a treat she looked forward to every week.

She used the backside of letters and bits of scrap paper. Sometimes she even painted over news sheets. The paints and tools were crude, but they got the job done.

She quickly sketched a scene in homemade charcoal. The crooked stick flashed with confident strokes, laying down thick black lines. She would blend it later.

She dropped the charcoal and frowned in annoyance when she discovered the stick had snapped. Good thing she had more. She reached into her satchel and her hand discovered an unfamiliar book.

Surprised, she drew it out. It was a brand new sketchbook. Clean white pages were sandwiched in between pasteboard covers. She had never seen such nice paper. Where did it come from?

She frowned. Someone must have slipped it into her bag, but there was no one next to her.

Was it a gift? It had to be. It wasn't the kind of thing that would end up in her bag. She couldn't see anyone playing a joke. But who would do such a thing? She had only been in the city a little while and she didn't have any friends.

??

He watched her look around. She looked so surprised, and a little worried. The worry eased as time went by and no one accused her of theft. She looked at the book in wonder, and then tucked it away and hurried off.

He smiled. He'd been waiting for a while to slip the book in her bag while she was distracted. She was a good artist. She would make good use of the fine paper.

The professional artist wrapped up his work for the day. The show was over, so the young man turned his wheelchair and moved away, his bodyguard trailing behind.

??