CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
On Sunday, Leah took her sketchpad to the home of Becky, the Yorkie-owning Quilter. Suzie had been shampooed and combed for the occasion and the fur on top of her head had been gathered into a bunch and tied with a scarlet ribbon. Leah held her hand out to the small dog that was wriggling and panting with excitement and was rewarded with a lick.
Dog and owner lived in a tiny terraced cottage on a steep hill. It was rather dark inside, being overshadowed by a high bank at the back, crowned with tall trees. “What kind of setting would you like her to be in?” asked Leah.
“On a cushion, I think and I’d like some flowers in the picture, too, if you can manage it.”
“I think I can manage that,” Leah said cheerfully. She knew just the cushion and just the flowers. They were
