Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1903-06-04
| THE LIGHT
| : THAT FAILED
By RudYard Kiplins

would go back to her studio ana pre-
pare pictures that went, etc, etc. The
millwheel of thought swung round
slowly that no section of it might be
slurred over, and the red haired girl
tossed and turned behind her.
Maisie put her chin in her hands and
decided that there could be no doubt
whatever of the villainy of Dick. To
justify herself she began unwomanly
to weigh the evidence. There was
boy, and he had said he loved her. And
he kissed her-kissed her on the cheek
by yellow sea poppy that nodded
its head exactly like the maddening
dry rose in the garden. Then there was
an interval, and men had told her that
they loved her just when she was
busiest with her work.
Then the boy came back and at their
very second meeting had told her that
he loved her. Then he had But there
was no end to the things he had done.
He had given her his time and his pow
ers. He had spoken to her of art, house
keeping, technique, teacups, the abuse
of pickles as a stimulant-that was
rude-sable hairbrushes-he had given
her the best In her stock-she used
them daily; he had given her advice
that she profited by, and now and
again-a look. Such a look. The look
of a beaten hound waiting for the word
to crawl to his mistress feet.
In return she had given him nothing
whatever exeept-here she brushed her
mouth against the openwork sleeve of
her nightgown-the privilege of kissing
her once, and on the mouth too. Dis
graceful! Was that not enough, and
more than enough? And if it was not
had he not cancelled the debt by not
writing and probably kissing other
girls?
"Maisie, you'll catch a chill. Do go
and lie down." said the wearied voice
of her companion. 81 can't sleep a
wink with you at the window
Naisie shrugged her shoulders and
did not answer. She was rejecting on
the meanness of Dick and other mean
nesses with which he had nothing to
do. The remorseless moonlight would
not let her sleep. 1t lay on the skylight
Of the studio across. the road in cold
silver, and she stared at it intently,
and her thoughts began to slide one
into the other.
The shadow of the big bell handle in
the wall grew short, heightened again
and faded out as the moon went down
behind the pasture, and hare came
limping home across the road Then
the dawn WIND w3she1 through the
upland grasses and brought coolness
with it, and the cattle lowed by the
drought shrunk river. Maisie's head
fell forward on the window sill, and
the tangle of black hair covered the
arms.
'Maisie, wake up. You'll catch
chill"
eyes, dear; yes, dear" She staggered
to her bed like wearied child, and as
she buried her face in the pillows she
muttered: Il think-I think But he
ought to have written"
Day brought the routine of the stu
dio, the smell of paint and turpentine
and the monotonous wisdom of Kami,
who was a leaden artist, but a golden
teacher if the pupil were only in sym
pathy with him. Maisie was not in
sympathy that day, and she waited
impatiently for the end of the work.
She knew when it was coming, for
Kami would gather his black alpaca
coat into a bunch behind him and, with
faded blue eyes that saw neither pu-
3lIs nor canvas, looR back into the past
to recall the history of one Binat.
you have all done not so badly he
would say. "But you shall remember
that it is not enough to have the meth
cd and the art and the power, nor even
that which is touch, but you shall have
also the conviction that nails the work
to the wall. OF the so many have
taught"-here the students would be-
gin to unf1x drawing pins or get their
tubes together" the very so many that
l have taught, the best was Binat. All
that comes Of the study and the work,
and the knowledge was to him even
when he came. After he left me he
ihould have done all that could be done
with the color, the form and the knowl-
Edge. Only he had not the conviction.
So today l hear no more Of Binat, the
best Of my pupils, and that is long ago.
So today, too, you will be glad to hear
no more of me. Continuez, mesde-
moiselles, and, above all, with convic-
tion.''
He went into the garden to smoke
and mourn over the lost Binat as the
pupils dispersed to their several cot
tages or loitered in the studio to make
plans for the cool of the afternoon.
Maisie looked at her very unhappy
Melancolia, restrained a desire to
grimace before it and was hurrying
across the road to write a letter to
Dick when she was aware of a large
man on a white troop horse. How
Torpenhow had managed in the course