Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1886-06-13

bic mother, and shs stood between HIN
and bis father when there was anything
wrong, ~ there often was. She was 50
sunny and hopeful that she could never
see much harm In his constant bits o.
naughtiness and he was always aftec'
Tomato, and ~ easy to melt into pas
sionate repentance Is to rouse into RACES
or fits Of childish mischief. She WAS
determined opt:mist--a bit Of Italian
blue sky and sunshine, like her picture.
| Her husband had IN odd association oil
ideas with the two. She frightened the
dull places Of his life with her bhthe
hopefulnsss, as the landscape-which
seemed to have been dipped 10 southern
warmth and sunlight-lit up the dingy
room and the foggy atmosphere, and
collected in itself point Of beauty and
radiance. She rested his soul IS the
Claude rested his eyes, tired Of the ugly
monotopy Of the long business day.
But the ipanimate had durability
which the animate lacked. London
could not dim Commas heart, but it
could steal her strength and health !;
and, while she declared every day that
she was better and going to be well
quite soor--unconsciously deceiving
him and herself--death was too strong
for her, and there came black night
mare Of q day which remained for the
rest of Louis Dumaresq's life shud-
dering memory Of uncomfortable pain
q day on which Commas large, bright,
feverish eyes closed on her little world
oflove, and over which where there had
been joy and warmth and hope despair
brooded.
lie went on, to all appearances, much
the same; the Office did not see any
great difference, for none counted his
gray hairs or noticed the lines that had
come on his sallow forehead be went
and came as when Comma had well
coined him he had to satisfy his hun
cry soul as well as he could with what
she had left him-the boy and the pic
ture that always reminded him Of her
and the sun Of his Italian days. lie
sent Clement to school. The boy was
lovable, with hundred faults, and had
spark in him Of real, but Maynard
genius very uneasy and doubtful
possession, which often means worse
than failure. He painted and designed
wonderfully" for twelve years old,
as everybody said, only he never had
the patience to make correct copy Of
anything. lie played by ear, and sang
like seraph. His father gave him, the
first time he had anything like good
report at school, little violin, on which
he soon learned to play with extraordi-
nary facility, and to compose little wild,
quaint melodies of his own. lie was
very handsome, and when he was
"good," which was q rare occurrance,
his father delighted in him. On such
evenings, sitting in his old easy chair
smoking, with the boy opposite him,
by turns chattering and making strange
wandering music out of his little violin,
something like contentment came over
the tired, respondent, reserved soul Of
Louis Dumaresq his severe looks re-
Taxed, and trace ofthe old smile which
he had given his wife returned as he
looked and listened to the eager, clever,
dsrk-eyed boy. lie had not much faith
in the lastingness of the peace and re-
pose he felt. A deep distrust of the fu-
ture and q certain suspiciousness Of ma
ture, which haunted even his love for
the boy, was always underlying the
smooihness of the surface but for the
moment he was half consoled, and his
heart rested for space from its eternal
disquiet.
Such an evening he remembered al
ways in after years as standing out
bright from a sombre background of
disappointment and weary monotony Of
days. He came home rather early, and
found Clement in one Of his bright, af-
fectionatc moods, which came and went
like sunshine on an April day. lie
greeted his father with boyish hug;
be had much to tell of his day at school,
and chartered all dinner time-they had
q frugal dinner together late--with
bursts of laughter in between his sem
fences which were infectious, and made
Dumaresq's thin, worn face light up
into something of the gayety Of youth.
In the evening Clement announced him
self in a playing fit"-sometimeS he
could not produce note, and would not
touch his violin; sometimes he had
craze for art, and would not lay down
his pencil.
Tonight, as he perched on high
stool opposite his father, with his legs
tucked under him and his violin on his
shoulder, be glanced with his great
bright, dark eyes first up at the land
scape overhead, then at his father,
with his bow poised in his hand, ready
to begin.
"You are awfully fond Of that pic
ture, dad" he said, still gazing at it.
"Yes, if you put it so," Dumaresq
answered, smiling, as he watched the
rather elfin-looking figure through the
smoke of his pipe; sit is more than a
picture to me-"
"Yes, know. remember when you
used to hold me up and tell me stories
about it and about Italy. shall 60 to
Italy some day and paint. 1t is more
than picture to me, too it has told
me something. Listen, dad, III show
you what it has told me-"
And dashing the bow across the
strings Clement struck into an air his
father listened with more than his ears;
the st, apge, fresh, sweet little melody
went to his heart. The boy broke off
suddenly.
That's the picture, father; doesn't
it make you see it? The sun on the
river, and the pine trees and the girls
dancing--it all dances together, the
water and the sunshine and the girls"
"Plsy it again, boy" the father said
briefly.
He could not have praised or ex-
pressed any of the painful pleasure
which was swelling in his heart it was
impossible for him--a habit of chill
reserve and repression had grown upon
him like ice over lake. Years Of grind
ing work, Of loss and failure, had made
him vhst he uas--tha worst comn.n;nn