Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1892-12-08
which she gazed, half shutting her eyes

IN truly artistic 1ntehtness.
We'll, never mind that; get the char.
a,.el of it. You know Fleming says
the characters the thing. 'that's what
I want the character-the true char.
acter of this beastly country
Sc Grace donned her big blue apron
and set to work with her biggeet brush.
e<. But somehow she had trouble.
The quality of that sky burning with
light and yet deep IN hue, did not seem
to reside in cobalt, however fresh from
the tube. The value of the stretch OF
plain tremulous under the flaring heav.
ems disturbed her, too, and when she
came 10 put in the airy wall of cotton.
woods along the horizon the whole
thing ended in panty middle.
on, l can't DO anything to-day
Grace exclaimed, petulantly, wiping
her troubled brow with the back of her
hand and leaving streak of blue along
her forehead that intensified her puz
zled look.
why don't you put those trees in
green? Woodson asked, with serious
concern, as Grace renewed her struggle
with the regulation blue and purple
But I don't see them, so,' she muir.
INJURED, in moment of absorbed inter.
est.
'G.ace, be blurted out almost before
he knew it, I don't belieye you see
anyth!ny. Excuse me, but | don't be
lieve you eyer did. don't believe in
your career; I don't believe in your in.
dependence You're spelling the
incest girl in the world with it. You
see everything through Fem,ng's eyes
You see things blue and purple because
he does and he-well, he sees things
that way because some fellows over i'll
Paris do. and l don't believe in it..
There, now I've SAID it, come
But it was not arranged that he
should finish what he had to say.
H had looked down to the ground
where he sat as he spoke Of Fleming
When he looked up Grace was several
feet away from him, hurrying down the
hill, with her head bowed.
'Im' brute-a miserable brute he
remarked to himself with considerable
force. as he watched her strlding to-
ward the half dry creek. But some
one ought to have told. Her art is all
foolishness Look at Fleming, even.
He's 40 and III lake to know where be
would be if 1t wasn't for his teaching.
But N a brute just the same-a heart
less brute
There was , plum thicket along the
creek, and after watching Grace disap'
pear within 1t Woodson set about pick
ing up her sketching kit. This done,
it occurred to HIM that it would be a
proper penance on his part to wash her
brushes-he had always hated dirty
brushes so. Gathering them up he
started toward the creek. When he
got there he could see no signs of Grace.
Could 1t be that anything had happened
to her? The thought made him catch
his breath for moment. He knew she
was impulsve-capable of any rash
move in u moment of excitement. Then
he heard stirring in the plum thicket,
and he came face to face upon her in a
little opening, crying softly to herself.
"Grace," he called, why. what's the
matter | know Pm a brute, but |
didn't think you'd take it So
oh, can't you help me p she pleaded,
and began cropping about amesslY with
her hands.
He saw that her hair was loosened
and her wrists and face were scratched
and bleeding in dozen places.
why, what s the matter?' he qucrled
again, as she came cropping toward him
and stumbled against him.
Cant you help me at all ?
OF course I can, small girl; you re
all right. Nothing shall touch you,
he reiterated as his arms closed tightly
arouLd her.
oh, silly, can't you see I've lost my
gasses!' she exclaimed, pulling away
from him and flushing red among the
greenery. But he held her tight.
You don't want them; you see bet
ter without them, blue eye. Confess,
now, you meyer really saw before.
Give up trusting in those wretched
glasses and trying to be independent.
Coiae, see your career through nv eyes.
But still she held back at arms
length really defiant. His fingers left
white circle where they clasped her
4 - Il