Litchfield enquirer., 1881-03-24
OLD vANDERHAVEN'S WILL
A CHRISTMAS STORY.

l cient city of Bruges, and the musical chime s fell sweetly on the warm, still, evening air. as they played the Shadow Song from Dinor- ah. f < -k. The old houses which surrounded the place, with their quaint step gables, carved timbers, and deep-set easements seemed to have fallen asleep in the sunshine, dreaming perhaps of the days when Bruges was one of the centres of the worlds commerce; when her naughty burgers lived like princes, and the ministers of twenty nations resided within her walls.
 One of the largest and most picturesque of the ancient enements-formerly the Guild house of wealthy corporation-was occupied by M. Nicholas Vanderhaven, who, after 8 busy and prosperous life as a merchant at Antwerp, had retired to spend the evening of his days in his native city r On the first floor, looking out on the Market place, was spacious apartment which had been the banquet chamber of the Guild, and was now used as studio by M. Vanderhaven's s grandson No artist could have desired more | harmonious surroundings. The room, though unfurnished, was picture itself with it's painted ceiling, walls panelled in dark polish ed oak, superb Renaissance chimney piece, and the sxteenth-century tapestry that hung before the door. ...l
 The only occupant of the room this summer evening was Bernhardt Vanderbaven, hand some, dark-eyed young fellow, W with moustache and short pointed beard, dressed, with cer- tain afectation of careessness, in a quaintly- 1 cut velvet blouse and open collar .-l< He had drawn his easel close to the window to catch the failing light, and was painting industriously, puffing at Lis cigarette mean time, and only pausing now and then to cast a half-reproachfuf glance at the darkening sky. -s*.
 At length he drew back: looking at his work | with critical frown. Gradually his brow re-: faxed, and smile stole to his lips.
 Yes, it is like her he muttered; very like :! Just that wistful look in the eyes, and the tender, trusttui smile know SO well. My | sweet Annette!'
 young girl in the richly picturesque costume of noble Flemish lady of the seventeenth century; a girl wish delicate, oval face, only falntly tinted with rose-color sweet, smiling
 lips, and softest hazel eyes, which had a dreamy, out ut-loeking' gaze that gave touch ot spirituality to her beauty. The young man studied every line of the sweet face as if he had never seen it before. So absorbed was he that he did not hear the opening of the door, and started when familiar voice behind him said. drily: fear am interrupting you, bernhardt. Shall come again when you are less occupied?'
 You caught me dawdling for once grand father the young man answered. turning tow ards the intruder with pleasant smile but have been working furiously all day, and my picture is nearly finished l am glad to hear it, was the reply, as, without even glancing at the canvas, the in- truder took his seat on the only chair the room i contained, unceremoniously sweeping on to the floor heap of draperY which encumbered it. s | l handsome, vigorous man of seventy, with few signs of age about him, save his silvered hair and the thick, white brows, beneath which his keen eyes glittered like fire under snow' His chin was square and firm, and his closely shut mouth would have been terribly grim but for some hnes about the corners, which showed gleam of humor and kindliness. His face was pretty fair index to his charac- ter; shrewd, hard, but not unkindly, and capable on occasion of generous impulses.
 I am glad to hear it. he repeated. There dreaming and daubing: It is time you began l life in earnest
 Bernhardt raised his brows.
 l I thought l had begun it in very serious earnest, he returned, with half smile, stand. | ing With one foot on the rail of his painting stool, and his elbow on his knee. I have worked hard enough lately to satisfy even you, | Monsieur
 Worked :? humph, weIl-if you call that work. But who is the better for it: What comes of it all?'
 Nothing yet perhaps, but fame and fortune 1 Will come of 1t some day-at least hope SO, , added Bernhardt; and that hope is my guid- ing star
 A will-o'-the-wlsp that will lead you into swamp was the encouraging comment. 1 The young man laughed, and tossed back his long hair
 | Come, grandfather, how can you tell what I my chances are ? he said spontaneously {; you never even glanced at my pictures. I should be glad if you would, for you are an excellent judge of painting though you have such contempt for artists. lr 1 Artists who are worthy the name have my admiration and respect answered Mir. Van- derhaven deliberately. I only despise those shallow pretenders who make art an excuse for ldleness and aHectation; for wearing ab- normal coats and boards" ihis listener winced slghtlyl; leading abnormal lives, and being altogether chartered as Bohemlans However enough of that he continued. I want to have little serious talk with you.' The young artist gave resigned sort of shrug, and perchng himself on his painting ! stool, prepared to listen.
 You will be twenty one on the first of next
 
 not forgotten our agreement P No, sir; l have not forgotten. You were to leave me free to follow my own devices till l was of age, then was to choose between art and commerce; to decide whether would 20 on with my painting, or join my cousin in the house at Antwerp, of which you are still the nominal head
 Exactly. WeliP ise{<4 l 'Well-I have chosen art, or rather art has I ohncnn Cho Inc, eaI r | low, whether she rewards me or not am sorry to disappoint you, grandfather, know. l ing you had set your heart on my entering the 1 nrm, but-it is impossible. should never be a man of business. am painter or noth- l ing. .Ominously grim grew his companions face as he listened, and the lines about his mouth had nothing humorous now, but he replied quietly enough.
 l Very good. You are prepared to take the consequences of your decision, T presume P The consequences Tam prepared to work hard and bide my time, if that is what you | mean
 Not quite. Are you prepared to earn your own living Will your brush find you food to eat, clothes to wear, and roof to cover you?'
 'Well-not yet, perhaps; haven't tried to 1 sell my pictures; but after time After time, when fame and fortune have found you-just so Meanwhile, you see, like many another genius" before you. you stand a chance of starving in garrett
 Bernhardt stared at him in astonishment l and dismay. @e~- -% sg T
 I don't understand he began; you do not mean, . ss. eyr- ! I do not mean to keep you here in luxury and idleness, when you have set my wishes at defiance, upset my plans, and frustrated the ambition of my life '
 | What was that ? his grandson interrupted.
 'To leave the old firm as found it. flourish ing under the old name, that has been trans mitted stainless rom father to son for four generations -since the time of our founder, simon Vanderhaven.' And he glanced at an old portrait by the chimney piece, which seemed to look back at him with sympathy and approval E