The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1900-01-25

as with an Icy mantle. Henri had felt
powerless to take her hand. and his
eager words died upon bis lips. Thus
had they parted.
The carriage stopped the coachman
wishing to know whether monsieur
had any particular route In view.
"Drive anywhere-to the devilr' cried
Duval Grossly and they turned down n
long alley toward lake. The young
artist looked listlessly at the children
playing and nurses gosslping
Suddenly he pulled the check string.
Why should he be mewed up In the
coupe? Why had he not ordered bis
saddle horse? All, only because he
had not known what he was doing or
saying since yesterday. This was no
day to sit cooped up in a carriage. At
least he could walk. The exercise
would be relief. Telling his man to
await him at the entrance to the Bois,
Henri strobe into shady path that be-
spoke solitude and wandered on, while
repeating In his mind over and over
again the scene of yesterday. At last
a sense of WEAKNESS caused him to
rest on bench. There he sat brood
ing and absorbed till his reveries were
broken by the voices of children.
Abstractedly Duval looked up and
watched them at their playa boy of
some years and a girl of perhaps two
years younger. Gradually his mood
changed and he became conscious of
the radiance of the day, the deep blue
sky and the autumn tints that glinted
and glowed In the sunlight The air
was as wine to his thirsty lungs. and
life grew full of possibilities again. and
his thoughts took new course. Why
could he not paint soul as well rs a
body? He would win Blanche yet. He
would not make any effort to see her
now, but would work and wait. His
life should prove his right to win her
love. He would paint a picture that
even she would praise. A hundred
subjects presented themselves TO his
busy brain as he sat there watching
their play and were crossing the road
way. Hand In hand they came. the
boy leading his younger companion.
now running. now hating to avoid a
passing carriage, until they reached q
graveled footpatb. There they linger-
ed again. playing on the grass border
ing the path. Both had on blue aprons
and little wooden shoes. They were
without hats and typical children of
the poor Presently. quite unconscious
ly, the little girl fell into a pose be-
meath slender tree whose leaves
autumn had turned with Midas touch
to pure gold.
The breeze blew her short curls about
her forehead; her apron was full of
colored leaves the boy had thrown to
her Just then rustling above caus-
ed her to look up. and n shower of
golden leaves descended upon her dark
curls. blue apron and little sabots.
"Ah. sweet child Danae,' cried Du-
val. thou art an inspiration"
A year of work brought forth the
picture that made him famous. 1t was
simple subject-a child with wind
tossed locks holding open her blue
apron to catch the golden shower of
leaves sent dancing down upon her by
the autumn wind.
The public raved over the beauty of
the child's eager, upturned face. the
blue of the sky and the gold of the
trees. but blanche read the message of
the soul in the innocent eyes and gave
her heart into the keeping of the artist
who had painted "A Little Danae In
Sabots "-ENchange.