Connecticut western news., 1903-07-02

| "Bltndp' said Matste stuptdly. | He had given her his time and his pow | CTS. 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 protited by, and now and l again-a look. Such look. The look | of a beaten hound waiting for the word l to crawl to his mistress feet. In return she had given him nothing whatever except-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 chill. Do go | and lie down." said the wearied voice of her companion. "I can't sleep d wink with you at the window Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was refecting on the meanness of Dick and other mean nesses with which he had nothing to do. The remorseless moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the skylight of the studio across the road in cold silver, and she stared at 1t 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 a hare came limping home across the road. Then | the dawn wind washed through the | upland grasses and brought eoolness | with, it, and the cattle lowed by the drought shrunk river. Maisie's head i fell forward on the window sill, and | the tangle of black hair covered the arms.
 "Maisie, wake up. You'll catch n chill" ....
 Yes, dear; yes, dear" She staggered to her bed like a wearied child, and as she buried her face in the pillows she | muttered: "I think-I think But he |
 Day brought the routine of the stu \ dio, the smell of paint and turpentine and the monotonous wisdom of Kami, l who was 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. l She knew when 1t was coming, for Kami would gather his black alpaca coat into a bunch behind him and, with faded blue eyes that saw neither pu- | pills nor canvas, look 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 1t Is not enough to have the meth | od and the art and the power, nor even 1 that which is touch, but you shall have nlso the conviction that nails the work to the wall. Of the so many I have | taught"-here the students would be- gin to unflx drawing pins or get their tubes together-'the very so many that I 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 should 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 desire to grimace before 1t 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 of twenty hours to find his way to the hearts of the cavalry officers in quar- ters at Vitry- y-surMarne, to discuss with
 them the certainty of a glorious re- vanche for France, to reduce the colo nel to tears of pure affabtlity and to 1 borrow the best horse In the squadron
 for the journey to Kamrs studio is a
 mystery that only special correspond ents can unravel.
 "I beg your pardon" said he Ut seems an absurd question to ask, but the fact is that I don't know her by any other name. Is there any young lady here that is called MaisieP
 "I am Maisie," was the answer from the depths of a great sun hat.
 T ought to introduce myself" he said as the horse capered In the blind ing white dust. My name is Torpen- how. Dick Heldar Is my best friend, and-and-the fact is that he has gone blind"
 Blind" said Maisie stupidly. He can't be blind"
 He has been stone blind for nearly two months"
 Maisie lifted up her face and it was pearly white. "No! No! Not blindi I won't have him blind!'
 Would you care to see for ypursalfT, sA4 EozpenAoRA- :. --zs,aa.a. .aks.!.....s:.sA