The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1883-06-27
The Picture---Art i'm Morals.

"Only Just little wayne shall soon
be home now, and mothers waiting"
"I don't care. I've made up my mind
that I've walked too far already, and Pm
just going to sit down and rest; they
must wait, and 1 shall do as 1 choose"
"But, father -"
"Now don't you talk to me about butts
Charlie, because / won't have it. I shall
sit down here, and you can go and tell
your mother not to wait-not to wait"
the man repeated, raising his voice with
the stupid anger of intoxication.
Still, in spite of threat and refusal,
the child persisted in pleading that his
father should 60 home but his words
only seemed to strengthen the mans
obstinscy, and all the boy could do was
to get his father to turn aside from the
high road into field close by, where the
man threw himself at full length on the
grass somewhat under the shade of the
hedge, and in few minutes he was Sleep
ing heavily, whilst the child sat down at a
little distance, with strange kind of I'M
childish patience on his features, to wait
until his father should wake. Poor little
Charlie he knew too well how useless any
attempt on his part would be to rouse his
father from that sort of sleep.
Rather more than half an hour had
passed in this dreary waiting, and Charlie
was beginning to find all his small sources
of amusement fail him. He had watched
a large bee that kept lowering over the
convolvulus blossoms in the hedge, and
wonderedsif he had not nearly finished
his days work bad placed snail out of
harms way, and had been tempted to
chase beautiful painted butterfly that
fitted past him but he began at last to
lose his interest in bees and butterflies,
for it was now tea-time, and Charlie was
growing terribly hungry. Still he did not
think of deserving his post, for no one but
the child himself knew how often he had
kept his tipsy father off the country road
when carts or carriages were coming
along, nor how he had managed to guide
him in safety over the narrow bridge that
led across the river to their cottage.
So Charlie sat there quietly, though he
was growing more tired and hungry every
moment, until the sound of whistle at a
little distance attracted his attention, the
sound gradually coming nearer and sound
ing more distinct, until young man
jumped over the stile at the end of the
field and approached the child, who then
knew him to be gentleman he had often
met during the last few weeks, sometimes
sketching, sometimes wandering about
with his knapsack on his back and his
portfolio under his arm. Indeed, kind
of half acquaintance had sprung up be-
tween the young artist and Charlie-one
attracted by the glimpse he had caught
of the pictures contained in the wonder
full portfolio, the other by the child's visit
full glances and his rustic beauty.
Busy with his own thoughts, and judg-
ing from his happy face they were very
pleasant ones-perhaps dreams of the
time when some wonderful picture of his
should hang on the walls of the academy,
and by so doing help him on the road to
fame and fortune-Eustace Carroll had
half-crossed the field before he noticed
Charlie and his father. Then his quick
eyes told him the meaning of the little
scene the quiet, weary-looking child and
the sleeping father, with his untidy
clothes and collar and hectic unfastened,
and his face turned up to the blue sky
that looked down upon nothing so de-
based as this man, whom God had made
ga little lower than the angels" and who,
by his own vice, had thus degraded him
self.
With the quick instinct of childhood,
Charlie understood the look of disgust
J with which the young artist turned to
him, saying kindly as he did so:
"You are waiting to take your father
home, suppose ?"
eyes, sir" replied the child, whilst a
flush of shame spread over his face
DWELL, 1 think he is likely to lie there
for hours yet Can't you leave him ?"
"No, sir, he might be run over or fall
, into the river, if left him to come home
by himself"
3 sob H" said Eustace, as he glanced
l toward the sleeping man, and wondered
=, if it would be much loss to any one, if hi
did fall into the river; but he checked
the thought, remembering that he, will
his refined tastes and many kinds o
e amusement, could form no idea of tn,
a temptation which drink might have TO
|. this man, with his smaller advantages 0
fortune and education, and then an ide
! flashed across his mind, and he deter
: mined to act upon it.
Q "Have you had your tea, boy :" h
J. asked as he unstrapped his knapsack an,
b took out small parcel wrapped in paper
= "Mother will be sure to keep it for m
until get home, sir" replied Charlie, to-
o brave to complain to stranger.
= "That's all right" said Eustace, under
a standing and respecting the feeling tina
! dictated the answer meanwhile, l sha
n give you this piece of cake, just to pas
!. the time away. When / was small boy
y stray pieces of cake never prevented m
d eating my meals when they came, so you
a mothers tea will not be wasted. No,
you sit still, for am going to make
picture, and when it is finished | wi
% show it to you"
I Very few dsinties fell TO Charles shar
Is in those days, and Eustace was highl
10 amused at the manner in which he ate hi
le cake, nibbling it off around the edge, 8
n as to make it last as long as possible
d and he succeeded so we'll that the pictur
,e was finished almost at the same time q
IN the last currant disappeared.
10 "Well, was it good 2" asked Eustact
lg as he tied his portfolio.
ID eyes; mother does not put currant
o. in her cakes. Sometimes on our brit
G. days, when father has not been out, "
ID have cake; but then we have no seed
v. in it,"