Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1892-12-02
that blue hollow of the hills, with its gayl.

The earth seemed hung in some rarer me-
dunn than common air. The yellow cactus
blossoms were like flakes of flame. A scar
let flower fairly burned into the sight.
Grace developed a new enthusiasm every
day and piled her palette with cobalt and
chrome. Even Fleming, who had preceded
them, smoked a trife faster than usual and
grunted out now and then: Put in your
color pure Make her jump"
So they painted from morning till night,
keeping two or three studies under way at
once-putting in blues where Woodson saw
greens, and puppies where he saw nothing
but nondescript sand, and doing all the in
explicable things that should be done &C
cording to the gospel of the luminists.
Woodson sat by and chaffed. He couldn't
paint. He wouldn't smoke. He parted
Grace's occasional inquring glances by ex-
planning that he was negotiating to go into
the cattle business-a man was going to
bring him herd on trial.
Meanwhile he arrayed his shapely figure
in cowboyish top boots, blue shirt and
SLOUGH hat, which became him immensely,
and made a sinister impression among the
blazers and tennis suits of summering
Manitou. Grace was absorbed and salts
fed. One day an idea struck him. Grace"
said he, II found little bit down here the
other day that I'd like to have you sketch
to send home, you know. You'll do it,
won't your"
"Why, of course. I'll speak to Mr.. Elem
ing"
ooh, hang Mr.. Fleming" Woodson broke
in. "Fleming's all right in his way, but l
want you-your sketch, you know"
The place was quite distance away,
over the mesa They set out for it the
next day.
"Here it is" Woodson exclaimed, after
quite tramp, pointing over the burning
plain to where row of cottonwoods were
banked against the sky, tremulous in the
vibrant air. "There, do that; call it "A
Hundred in the Shade or something like
/ that"
st doesn't seem to compose very WE'LL"
Grace murmured, holding the tips of her
fingers together and inclosing the picture
in rosy frame through which she gazed,
half shutting her eyes in truly artistic in
tentness.
well, never mind that get the charac
ter of it. You know Fleming says the
characters the thing. That's what want
the characteristic true character of this
beastly country"
| So Grace donned her big blue apron and
I set to work with her biggest brushes. 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 f1aring heavens, disturbed her. too, and
when she came to put in the airy wall of
cottonwoods along the horizon the whole
thing ended in panty muddle.
"Oh, can't do anything today!' Grace
exclaimed petulantly, wiping her troubled
brow with the back of her hand and leav-
| ing streak of blue along her forehead that
intensified her puzzled look.
"Why don't you put those trees in
green?" Woodson asked with serious con-
Germ as Grace renewed her struggle with
the regulation blues and puppies.
"But don't see them so" she murmured
in a moment of absorbed effort.
Grace" he blurted out almost before
he knew it, Il don't believe you see any
thing. Excuse me, but don't believe you
ever did. | don't believe in your art
! don't believe in your career; don't believe
! in your independence! You're simply spoil
ing the incest girl in the world with it,.
You see things blue and purple because he
does; and newell, he sees things that
way because some fellows over in Paris do,
and 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. He 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.
Pm brute-a miserable brute' Wood
son remarked to himself with considerable
| oha1 har riI 4
the half dry creek. but some one ought
to have told her. Her art is all foolish
ness. Look at Fleming, even. He's forty,
and I'd like to know where he'd be if it
wasn't for his teaching. But Pm brute,
just the samoa heartless brute!"
There was a plum thicket along the
creek, and after watching Grace disappear
within it Woodson set about picking 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. Gather
ing them up lie started toward the creek.
When he got there he could see no sign OF
Grace Could it be that anything had
happened to her? The thought made him
catch his breath for a moment. He knew
she was mpulsive-capable of any rash
move in a moment of excitement. Then
he heard stirring in the plum thicket
and came face to face upon her in a little
opening, crying softly to herself.
Grace" he called, why, what's the
matter2 l know Pm brute, but didn't
think you'd take it So"
"Oh, can't you help meS" she pleaded
and began CROPPING about and feeling aim
lessly with her hands.
He saw that her hair was loosened and
that her wrists and face were scratched
and bleeding in dozen places.
"Why, what is the matter?" he quered
again as she came cropping toward him and
stumbled against him.
Cant you help me at all?"
"Of course | can, small girl; you're all
right. Nothing shall touch you," he re-
iterated as his arms closed around her.
"Oh, silly, can't you see I've lost my
glasses?" she exclaimed, pulling away
from him and flushing red among the
greenery. But he held her tight.
you don't want them; you see better
without them, blue eyes. Confess now
you never really saw before. Give vi