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“What are you doing, Marge?” Dooley asked, for he, too, must have wondered why anyone would paint a sort of green blob on top of a sort of brownish blob.

Marge jerked out of her trance, and in doing so, liberally spilled drops of paint all over myself and Dooley.

“Yikes!” I cried as the noxious substance hit my smooth blorange coat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Max!” Marge said, as she hastened to wipe away the spillage with a rag. Unfortunately the rag was dirtier than the brush had been, and so she only managed to make even more of a mess, if that was possible.

It took her a little while to undo the damage, but when we looked more or less spic and span again, Dooley repeated his question:“What are you doing?”

“I’m painting,” said Marge lightly, as if that hadn’t been obvious from the first.

“What are you painting?” asked Dooley. “Except us, I mean.”

Marge gave my friend a puzzled frown.“Why, a tree, of course. Isn’t it obvious?”

Dooley studied the work of art some more, then finally shook his head.“It doesn’t look like a tree,” he said honestly.

“Well, that’s because this is just a preliminary study,” said Marge, regarding her own work with a touch of doubtfulness. “Once I finish, the real work begins.”

“And why are you painting trees?” asked Dooley, continuing his third degree.

Marge shrugged.“Because I like it. It’s very relaxing to paint, you know.”

I thought back to Brutus and the horrified expression on his face when Harriet announced that from now on he was an artist. Somehow I didn’t associate art with relaxation. Then again, maybe it’s different for humans. Oftentimes they find joy in the most peculiar pastimes. Like hiking in nature. Or riding a bicycle.

Just then, Odelia came wandering into the backyard, hoisting Grace in her arms. The latter was gazing around herself with a sort of curious look on her face, as if wondering what all the fuss was about.

“Oh, hey, honey,” said Marge. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you want to join me for art class tonight? It’s a lot more fun if I bring a friend.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t, Mom,” said Odelia. “I’ve got an article to finish and it can’t wait.”

“Mh,” said Marge, looking slightly disappointed. Ever since Odelia had started work again, her leisure time was limited. She’d always been a busy bee, and now with a baby to take care of, her spare time was even more at a premium than before.

“Why don’t you ask Gran? I’m sure she’d love to go.”

Marge grimaced. Obviously the notion of taking her mother along with her to this art class didn’t appeal to her as much as it should have.

“Love to go where?” asked Gran. She came walking out of the house, wearing brown tennis shoes and a fluorescent green tracksuit, a combination which was oddly compatible with Marge’s tree.

“Art class,” said Odelia before Marge could shut her up. “Mom doesn’t feel like going all by herself, and I’m busy tonight, so we were wondering if you wanted to go.”

“Art class? What are you talking about?” asked Gran, as she cast a skeptical glance at her daughter’s latest creation.

“The library is organizing an art exhibition with works of people from Hampton Cove,” Marge explained, “so I thought why not join the fun and create something myself?”

“How many lessons have you had?” asked Gran as she leaned in and studied the painting, then stepped back and studied it some more, looking very much like an art critic in the way she was cupping her chin and frowning critically.

“One,” said Marge. “I was supposed to go with Margaret Samson, but she canceled at the last minute and now I’m looking—”

“What is that thing, I wonder,” said Gran.

Marge set her teeth.“It’s a tree. In fact it’s that tree over there.” She pointed to one of the trees that line the back of the garden.

Gran’s face cleared. “Oh, so that’s what it is. Well, I’d say keep practicing, honey. You’re not quite there yet.”

“It’s just a preliminary study,” Dooley explained. “Once this is done the real work begins.”

“Is that a fact?” said Gran with a grin, and started to walk away.

“Oh, Gran, can you take care of Grace? I have to run down to the office.”

“Sure thing,” said Gran, and took Grace over from Odelia, gently rubbing the little one’s back. She headed back inside. “We’re going to have a great time together, you and I,” she told her great-granddaughter. “Oh, yes, we will.”

“So, Gran, how about it?” said Odelia.

“How about what?” asked the old lady, turning back with a quizzical look.

“Can you join Mom for her art class?”

“No can do, I’m afraid,” said Gran.

“I didn’t know you had something else going on.”

“I have nothing going on. But we all know that art is for suckers. See ya.”

And then she was gone.

Dooley turned to me.“What does she mean, Max? Why is art for suckers?”

“You’d have to ask her, Dooley,” I said.

“I’ll show her what art can do,” said Marge. “I’m going to make the best painting in that exhibit, or my name isn’t Marge Poole.”