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After a year, Craunch came up from the country to see how his ward was getting along. Joshua showed him the lions of the city; and painted his picture, making so fine a portrait that when Mr. Craunch got back home he threw away the one made by Warmell.

Once at an exhibition Joshua met Alexander Pope, whom he had seen several times at Hudson’s studio. Pope remembered him and shook hands. Joshua was so inflated by the honor that he hastened home to write a letter to his mother and tell her all about it.

According to the terms of agreement with Hudson, Joshua was bound to stay four years; but now two years had passed, and one fine day in sudden wrath Hudson told him to pack up his kit and go.

The trouble was that Joshua could paint better than Hudson–every pupil in the school knew it. When the scholars wanted advice they went to Reynolds, and some of them, being sons of rich men, paid Reynolds for helping them.

Then Reynolds had painted a few portraits on his own account and had kept the money, as he had a perfect right to do. Hudson said he hadn’t, for he was bound as an apprentice to him.

“But only during working-hours,” replied young Reynolds. We can hardly blame Hudson for sending him away–no master wants a pupil around who sees all over, above and beyond him, and who can do better work than he. It’s confusing, and tends to rob the master of the deification that is his due.

Reynolds had remained long enough–it was time for him to go.

He went back to Devonshire, and Craunch, the biggest man in Plympton, took him over to Lord Edgecumbe, the biggest man in Plymouth.

Craunch carried along the portrait of himself that Joshua had made, and asked milord if he didn’t want one just like it. Edgecumbe said he surely did, and asked Joshua if he painted the picture all alone by himself.

Joshua smiled.

Lord Edgecumbe had a beautiful house, and to have a good picture of himself, and a few choice old ancestors on the walls, he thought would be very fine.

Joshua took up his abode in the Edgecumbe mansion, the better to do his work.

He was a handsome youth, nearly twenty years old, with bright, beaming eyes, a slight but compact form, and brown curls that came to his shoulders. His London life had given him a confidence in himself, and in his manner there was a grace and poise flavored with a becoming diffidence.

A man who can do things well should assume a modesty, even if he has it not. If you can write well, do not talk–leave that to the man who can do nothing else. If you can paint, let your work speak for you.

Joshua Reynolds was young, but he was an artist in diplomacy. His talent, his modesty, his youth, his beauty, won the hearts of the entire Edgecumbe household.

He painted portraits of all the family; and of course all the visitors were called upon to admire, not only the pictures, but the painter as well.

A studio was opened in one of Lord Edgecumbe’s buildings at Plymouth, and he painted portraits of all the great folks thereabout.

On Christmas-Day, Seventeen Hundred Forty-six, the Reverend Samuel Reynolds died, but before his death he fully realized that one of his children was well on the way to fame and fortune.

The care of the broken family now devolved on Joshua, but his income was several times as much as his father had ever earned, and his responsibilities were carried lightly.

While at the house of Lord Edgecumbe, Reynolds had met young Commodore Keppel. In Seventeen Hundred Forty-nine, Keppel was placed in command of the Mediterranean fleet, with orders to clear the seas of the Barbary pirates. Keppel invited Reynolds to join him on board the “Centurion” as his guest.

Gladly he accepted, and they sailed away for the Orient with a cabin stocked with good things, and enough brushes, paints, canvases and easels to last several painters a lifetime.