The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1894-09-27

AOl OssSApIOuuus AllO 8ShctclleSt & III Gle1rs /;
forms in fiat color.
NO" says the other, not like th6t.
Big hills, with rocks cropping out
next to the river
Watt says the artist, and he
dashes and dabs and slaps and spat-
ters the mingling tints and shades of
color all about with speed that is
bewildering
The gold-digger in his anxiety,
bends over him closer and closer, as
though he would look through the
canvas for the scene he longs for.
''No,,'' he says. mo, faint like it.
Try tho turn Of the river and some
land on this side.''
Even as he speaks the form and
color of the sky and hills are ripping
there, and at a sweep the painter
describes the line of the nearer shore,
and then the foreground seems to un-
roll across the canvas.
THAT is like the turn o. the river!
Try a stone. wall down there t'ward
the left. i Is that a stone WALTZ"
cit will be-.
IL IOOhS 10 me like d SGrcdkF OIL
brown paint"
'sIt is like a stone wall have in my
mind" the artist replied. '.But just
here it was tumbling down, and the
loose stones were scattered about,
half-hidden in the grass, like this; and
here the cattle and the sheep came
through, and had worn little crooked
path down to the water"
eyes, that's it. That's just what I
want but I don't get it yet. / don't
seem to see it for the paint
''You look too closely. Stand back a
! little.''
''Well, by the eternal! It is like it,
stranger! It is like it to dot! How
could We hit it so close?'' ne asks in
amazement. But We left out house
here on this side" he continues, "a
little house with a thatched roof, and
tall oak tree bending over it,"
The painter starts at this It
is his turn for amazement now.
| What wild hope thrills him
for a moment! What is this-Pshaw!
| What foolish fancy! A thousand
homes would answer that descriptions;
and he goes on with his work. He
paints the little house where he and
his brother Tom were born-where
they spent their childhood together
the little house from which Tom, his
brave, big brother, his hero, grown
desperate over the hard lot of their
widowed mother, had gone away with
| 1o7 fn &c ba;
fortunes.
He. paints the little house from
which their mother, broken hearted
for want of tidings Of her absent boy,
had been borne to her grave-the
house, no longer home, from which he
had wandered, a weak, forlorn, help
less little lad, out into the big world
alone-all alone, vainly wishing that
he might find Tom.
''Now you strike it, stranger! That's
it. It's the very place! How much dc
you want for it? Name your price
II can't part with it, said the
artist.
"But We must, I tell We, We must
Don't trifle with me, stranger. I or
! uC1CSl CAuC JiSUuiC, GILL IL mAAC.
won't 60 pack on that. But go on
There's winder on this side, an {
door here that's all. I can fairly
see two mischievous ,youngster
a-hidin' behind that wall, and mothe
standin' in the door calm Say
stranger, could We just put a woman
in the door tn ere, shadin' her eye
with her hand, like this?-a little
tired anxious-loolzin' woman, witt
, the XII ndest face, the dearest face
Could ye, stranger?"
mo, the space is too small.
! couldn't do it SO that you could Sc
the face"
''Paint me her face, will We, stran
ger, will We? See here" And he goe
down into his capacious pockets an
heaps great pile Of golden coin upo
the table.
Don't tell me you can't do it strar
. ger. Ye thought We couldn't do thj
but We have. I'll try and tell We no,
she looked. Il can see her face We
but it's kind of misty. If could Sc
one suthin' like it I could tell We no,
it were different And he takes a
eager, impatient turn about the room
mo, 'tan't like those, none of 'em
he says; ''these gay ones is all we
enough, but ant We got no plain lool
in little women. with home face:
with mother faces-han't We stra1
ger?''
The painter dare not speak. II
D dare not look into the questioner
face, lest he should lose the dear hor
: still growing in his heart. Instea'
g for answer, he rises, and, going to
corner of the room, lifts faded Gu
o Handicapped as it might be over
a shrinc-and reveals upon a low cas-
$ the worn face of his saint, his mothe
e The gold seeker with a quick spa
IS modic catching of his breath, is on h
d knee s before it, clutching the fran
in both big, sunburnt hands, as if
It feared this might be an illusory, ia
3, ing vision.