Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1901-10-31

bringing silvery hairs and fresh
laurels. Once he vent back again;
the old artist had died, the place was
sold, deserted, weed-grown, and he
could find nothing of her where
abouts- She was probably married
now, and he reso1utely closed his eyes
to the past. But hush! What trail
torous thoughts are there? Is he not
engaged to his friend, helen Gretchen
McDermot, beautiful still at 50? Be
sides she is clever and writes books,
you know.
A sweep of silk rust1ed down the
stairs, and he almost shakes himself
as he hurries his thoughts back to
First avenue.
Am 1 to apologize for keeping
you so long, Irving, or viii you sweet
ly tell me you ave conceived another
picture, another apple woman, say?"
81 fear my brain is not so fertile.
Have been engaged in the wise pursuit
of tracing those branches on the car
pet with my cane"
"What a dull half hour!"
"Nay, net so. I'm capable of bach
elor reveries, you know. In fact, I
believe l could have written them
fairly well. Did 1 moi tell you once
that authors and artists had the
same soul, only one was able to ex-
press more fuently with pen what the
other expressed more slowly with the
brush?"
"But more richly, sometimes"
The carriage drew away from the
boulevard with Mr.. Rathbury and his
fiancee.
Tell him to drive quickly, Irving.
You forget I am all anxiety to see
The Morning-Time.' 1t is not fair
that all the world is looking at it be-
fore Helen McDermot. I should have
had the first look. But you know
father would not come back to the
city until last night. Dear! how the
summer heat fingers! Tell me about
it again, your picture l lean. 1 shall
understand it better"
"No, I should rather you saw and
understood for yourself. 1t is the
favorite child of my brush, you
know"
She was silent, silent and beautiful.
He was proud of her, this ~queenly
woman at his side, with her fashion
clad form. Yes, he was fortunate
fame and wealth, and d handsome and
talented wife.
"Have you see hat other canvas
yet, The Unfinished picture?' She
asked.
"No, I just heard about it to-day.
I wonder who the artist isl"
They rel getting now where the
streets were more denseIy thronged.
The coachman drew up at last before
the granite pillars and broad steps of
Claire's gallery. They passed through
the cooling shadows Of the vaulted
roof to where the crowd was densest,
but it was some minutes before they
could make their way through the
crowd to "The Morning Time"
"She's not a perfectly beautiful girl.
See, the features + not perfect"
some one was saying.
NO, but the freshness, the life, the
suggestiveness of it. You almost ex-
pect her to speak. And that bird
why, you can hear it singi"
Then Helen McDermot was iostled
forward and she saw the picture-her
betrOthed's masterpiece.
An orchard scene on a May morn
ing. A fresh-faced girl had paused be-
meath a tree. She was holding her
apron full of wild flowers, standing
slightly on tip-toe, her lips parted, as
she listened to a goldfinch singing
from its perch on a tall reed hat
rocked beneath its weight. Farther
off a rustic fence skirted the horizon
and, beyond soft white burrows of
cloud along the blue. Above her head
a thrush peeped knowingly at her
from its nest in the apple-blossoms.
Helen McDermot's face grew radi-
ant with pride and eXultation as
she gazed and as she listened to the
comments of the critics.
"This is a fine thing over here"
said Mr.. Arno in Rathbury's ear,
" The Unfinished Picture
"Oh yes, l want to see that. Where
is it? just heard of it. Yes, 1 see"
1t was the face of a half-grown girl
with brush in hand and paint blotches
on her apron On the easel before
her, an unfinished picture, very imper-
feet, but with a suggestion of beauty.
But she was gazing away from her
work with a wistful look at a grey
haired artist who toiled in the back
ground. He needed her not, but paint
ed on, his long white curls falling in
medieval fashion about his shoulders.
The w~istfulness is perfect,i isn't it?"
said Rathbury. 'Who is the artist?"
"Some lady. Her name has just
slipped my mind; she's quite young, a
pupil of Saccho's. I imagine every
body will know before that picture
hangs here long. Her grandfather
was an artist, they say"
Mr.. Rathbury had gone back to Miss
McDermot's side. But he stopped in
sudden surprise. She was still stand
ing before the picture, but n hand
rested Imply on the other, her face
was dropped and all its joy was gone.
LET us go home" she said coldly.
"Helen-Miss McDermot, you r
ILL.,"
NO, not at all; come"
He led her to the carriage. No
word of congratulation OF her lips.
I'm sure you are i'll, Helen"
"No-not i'll, thank you. Drive
down Park Avenue. 1t is more Sc
Guided there"
what is it, Helen? Tell me-"
THAT girl-you have painted the
face of the woman you loved. You
could rot have Dainted like that if"