St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1893-04-01

showing here and there up the canyon
like scattered troop of butterflies
Then life became one long breath of de-
light. What color there wasl The
earth seemed hung in some rarer medium
than common air. The yellow cactus
blossoms were like flakes of flame. A
scarlet flower fairly burned into the
sight. Grace developed a new enthus-
iasm every day, and piled her palette
with cobalt and chrome. Even Fleming,
who had preceded them, grunted out
now and then, ''Put in your loore pure.
Make her jump"
| So they painted from morning till
night, keeping two or three studies I'M
der way at once-putting in blues where
Woodson saw greens and puppies where
he saw nothing but nondescript sand,
and doing all the inexplicable things that
should be done according to the gospel
| of the administers.
Woodson sat by and chaffed. He
couldn't paint. He wouldn't smoke. He
parted Graces occasional inquiring
glances by explaining that he was ne
gotiating to 60 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 i'm
mensely, and made sinister impression
among the blazers and tennis suits of
summering Manitou. Grace was alb
sorbed and satisfied. One day an idea
struck him. "Grace," said he, 81 found
a 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 Mr..
Fleming"
ooh, hang Mr.. Flemingn' Woodson
broke in. "Fleming is all right in his
way, but | want you-your sketch, you
Know
The place was quite distance away,
over the mesa. They set out for it next
day.
''Here it is Woodson exclaimed,
after a long tramp, pointing over the
burning plain to where row of cotton
woods 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 WE'LL"
Grace murmured, holding the tips of her
fingers together and inclosing the pic
ture in rosy frame through which she
gazed, half shutting her eyes in truly
artistic intentness.
"Well, never mind that; get the char
acter 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 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 re-
side in cobalt, however fresh from the
tube. The value Of the stretch of plain,
tremulous under the faring heavens, dis
turbed her, too, and when she came to
put in the airy wall of cottonwoods along
the horizon the whole thing ended in a
panty muddle.
ooh, can't do anything today"
Grace exclaimed, petulantly, wiping her
troubled brow with the back of her hand
aud leaving a streak along her forehead
that intensified her puzzled look.
why don't you put those trees in
green q Woodson asked with serious
concern, as Grace renewed her struggle
with the regulation blues and purple.
''But | don't see them So" she muir
INJURED, in moment of absorbed effort.
''Grace," he blurted out almost before
he knew it, Il don't believe you see any
thing. Excuse me, but l don't believe
you ever did. I don't believe in your
lrt; I don't believe in your career;
don't believe in your independence.
! cure simply spelling the incest girl in
he world with it. You see everything
through Fleming's eyes. You see things |
blue and purple because he does; and |
he sees things that way because |
ONE fellows over in Paris do, and |
lon't believe in it. There, now, I've
aid it. come
But it was not arranged that he should
nish what he had to say. He had
ooked down to the ground where he sat
S he spoke of Fleming. When he
ooked up Grace was several feet away
rom him, hurrying down the hill, with
Ter head bowed
"Tm a brute--a miserable brute"
Noodson remarked to himself with con-
lderable force, as he watched her strid-
ng toward the half-dry creek. but
ONE one ought to have told. Her ait is
IL foolishness. Look at Fleming.
wen. He's 40, and I'd like to know
where he'd be if it wasn't for his teach
ng. But I'm brute, just the samoa
lcartless brute"
There was a plum thicket along the
reek, and after watching Grace disap-
,ear within it Woodson set about pick
ne up her sketching kit. This done, it
occurred to him that it would be proper
,enance on his part to wash her brushes
he had always hated dirty brushes so.
them up he started toward the
reek. When he got there he could see
10 signs of Grace. Could it be that any
hing had happened to her? The thought
made him catch his breath for moment.
lie knew she was impulsive-capable of
ny rash move in moment of excite
lent. Then he heard a stirring in the
lum thicket and he came face to face
pom her in a little opening, crying softly
0 herself.
"Grace," he called, why, what's the
natter? know I'm brute, but | didn't |
hink you'd take it 500
ooh, can't you help me?' shepleaded,
nd began cropping about and feeling
imlessly with her hands.
He saw that her hair was loosened and
nat her wrists and face were scratched
nd bleeding in dozen places.
"Why, what's the matter2' he queried
gain, as she came cropping toward him
nd stumbled against him.