Arizona republican., 1893-01-18

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 colored roofs and gables showing here and
 there up the canyon, like scattered troop
 of butterflies. Then life became one long
 breath of delight. What color there wasl
 The earth seemed hung in some rarer me-
 dium than common air. The yellow cactus
 blossoms were like flakes of flame. A scar
 let flower fairly burned into the sight.
 Grace developed new enthusiasm every
 day and piled her palette with cobalt and chrome. Even Fleming, who had preceded them, smoked a trifle 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 purples where he saw nothing
 but nondescript sand, and doing all the in- applicable things that should be done ac- cording to the gospel of the luminists.
 WoOdson sat by and chaffed. He couldn't paint. He wouldn't smoke. He parried l Grace's occasional inquiring glances by ex- I blaming that he was negotiating to go into ] the cattle busincss-a man was going to bring him herd on trial
 1 Meanwhile he arrayed his shapely figure i in cowboyish top boots, blue shirt and slouch hat which became him immensely, and made a sinister impression among the ! blazers and tennis suits of summering i Manitou. Grace was absorbed and satis- ! fled. One day an idea struck him. Grace" said he, "I 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 yOu2"
 "Why, of course. I'll speak to Mir Elem ing"
 "Oh hang Mir. Fleming" Woodson broke in. "FleminG's all right in Lis way, but want you-your sketch, you fnow." The place was quite distance away, over the mesa. They set ont for it the next day.
 Here it is" Woodson exclaimed, after quite a tramp, pointing over the burning plain to where arrow of cottouwoods were banked against the sky, tremulous in the vibrant air. "There, do that; call it "A Hundred in the Shade or something like that"
 'It doesn't seem to compose very well" Grace murmured, holding the tips of her fingers together end inclosing the picture in a 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'swhat want the characteristic true character of this beastly country"
 So Grace donned her big blue apron and 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 flaring heavens, disturbed her, too, and when she came to put in the airy wall of cottOnwoods along the horizon the whole thing ended in a painty muddle.
 "Oh, l can't do anything todayp 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 cern as Grace renewed her struggle with the regulation blues and purples.
 "But don't see them so, ," she murmured in a moment of absorbed effort
 Grace" he blurted out almost before he knew it, "l don't believe you see any | thing. Excuse me, but don't believe you | ever did. l don't believe in your art; don't believe in your career; don't believe ]. in your iEGependencel You're simply spoil | iug the incest girl in the world with it. l 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 be . spoke of Fleming. When be looked up . Grace was several feet away from him. . hurrying down the hill, with her head | bowed.
 Pm brute-a miserable bruter' Wood i son remarked to himself with considerable | force as he watched her striding toward . 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 I'm brute, just the same-a heartless brute"
 There was a plum thicket along the creek, and after watching Grace disappear within it Woodson set about picking up her sketchng kit. This done, it occurred lb hlll NIdb lJ "puIl Dt d pIOptT DtIdnCb . on his part to wash her brushes-he had always hated dirty brushes so Gather iug them up he started toward the creek. When he got there be could see no sign of Grace. Could it be that anything had happened to herr 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 a 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 matter? l know I'm a brute, but didn't think you'd take it sO"
 "Oh, can't you help mel" she pleaded and began groping 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 matteri" he queried again as she came groping toward him and stumbled against him.
 Cant you help me at all?"
 "Of course I can, small girl; you're all ri, N,t gl, I,