St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1889-08-03

under the arching chestnuts. soon dis
appeared in the shades of the evening
Maurice returned home dreaming o
the girl with the yellow hair
Although he had often before seen
pretty PEASANTS whom he had regard
ed With an artists eye. he seemed Il
look on his girl with the jealous eye,
of lover. That night and the mex
day seemed long to him. and some time
before the appointed hour he was IL
the glade.
He worked by himself. and when. Z
little later. the young girl arrived q,
the sketch. she exclaimed with an ali
of coquetry and surprise:
"Ah. it is l! Arc you going to give
it to me?"
mo. will make small picture TO,
YOU"
'.And this one. what are you going
to do with it,"
1T is going to Paris. It will be pu,
in q largo frame. it will be hung in q
grand salon and all the world will 20
to SEQ it."
"Ah! yes. I know. At the exposi.
ton"
"Y0u know what that isp'
There have been artists here before
who painted pictures for the exposi-
ton. as they said. but thcy never paint
ed my portrait
The day was drawing to q beauti full
close. The atmosphere had the soft.
delicate tones which had delighted
Maurice on the previous evening, and
his work advanced rapidly.
He painted on the picture afterward
in his studio. He determined to make
1t his best work. Being already we'll
known. 1t was no longer necessary for
him to seek to make . name: never.
theless he was certain that this pict-
ure would set the seal on his reputa-
ton.
BY the time he had finished the pict-
ure to his satisfaction winter had come.
and Maurice was in love with his little
model.
He loved her too much to tell her Of
his love. too much to tear from her
native meadow this flower of maidcn-
hood whom he could not make his
wife. but enough to suffer at the
thought of parting from her. She had
nanght that goes TO the making OF
happiness in life. neither depth Of
sentiment. nor devotion, which makes
one forget all else. nor passion. which
excuses all things; she was simply a
pretty flower Of the field. little vain,
a little cOquettish. without either
grave faults or other virtues. Maurice
knew that she could be nothing to him,
yet he adOred tho beautiful outlines
of her scarcely-developed form.
which tho folds OF her coarse gown
chastely enveloped. yet could not all
conceal. He loved those deep eyes,
that smiling mouth. those yellow
tressea always in disorder. the little
handkerchief that crossed her bosom;
all these he loved. and it was with pain
he thought Of parting from them.
One always parts with pain from what
he expects never again to see. 1t is
so hard to leave behind one a bit of
ones life that he has no right to keep.
He had carried of her picture,
however. and before this he passed the
best hours of the winter. ceaselessly
laboring to perfect q work already
perfect
The painting was greatly admired.
The critics were unanimous in their
but they declared that
such a face could not exist except in
Tho mind of q poet or in tho imagina.
ton Of a painter. Maurice listened to
all this with smile. and kept to him
'elf the secret Of the sweet face that
had inspired him.
He received aattering offers for his
picture. None Of his previous paint
ngs had commanded 50 high price.
He declined to sell it; he also refused
o allow it to be engraved. As he was
Unable to possess the model OF the
picture, he was determined TO keep the
after.
II was autumn when no returned to |
he village where he had met the little |
Maid with the yellow hair. Since he |
lad painted her portrait twice had tho |
'onfires of St. Johns Evo seen the |
lands of joyous peasants dancing |
'b0ut them. and IS he thought of the |
Dung girl he smiled sadly. wondering
'hich Of the village rustics had made
" his choice.
His pilgrimage wns to the forest OF
hestnuts. Az darkness comes quickly
q October evenings. he fastened along
b forest walk; but it was not vet
ark. and the rays Of amber light still
-aversed the forest, falling upon the
,aves that trembled on their branches,
nd upon those that rustled under his
.et. With the odor OF dead leaves
anne q thousand regrets, sorrowful
lemories and bitter thoughts. which
lied him with unspeakable sadness.
it'll = greater distaste for life than he
I'd ever before experienced.
When he reached the glade he seated
imself in the same place where two
EARS before he had sketched tho pict-
re which had crowned his fame. The
I'D stone on which he sat seemed to
ock all his tender feelinga
While thus seated he saw approach.
e him. over the well-known path.
le girl who had been his model-now
large young woman. She was not
one; a peasant walked beside her,
olding her by the hand; be was .