The commonwealth. (Greenwood, Miss.) 1896-1923, 1905-04-15
md then moved slowly in the opposite

and Their moved slowly in the opposite
direction.
It was five days later, and the artist
sat before a picture he had intended
for the Academy, Cor the time of send
ing in was approaching.
He had put the finishing touches to
1t that morning, and now he sat and
contemplated it. 1t was good work:
in fact, it was great, and he knew it;
but he also knew that he had put
something into it that could never be
returned to him..
For four days he had never left his
studio, and now, as he sat there, a
look of great contentment rested On
his carewo1n face. He had worked
hard, and his last stroke of work was
his best. He had done it " for the
love of the working" and as the pic
ture of a girls face intruded Itself for
one moment before his minds eye,
with an impatient movement of his
arm he seemed to brush it away for
ever, and again bent his whole soul
on the canvas.
There was a knock at the door,, and,
dItSi q pdCoc, tLo louSChtcpEi VI Iuc
building entered with a request for
something in the room. He came SLOW
ly back to his surroundings, and, Oh
the request being repeated to him, he
rose from his chair and gave her what
she wanted.
AS he turned back to his picture a
fit Of coughing came upon him, leaving
him white and shaking, so much SO
that the woman stopped az she was
going out of the room and looked at
him ir~resolutely.
Its all right now" he said with
a faint smile. when he recovered his
as she went out.
He covered up the picture AID then
walked to the mantlepiece. In tho
middle Of the shelf was a photo
graph, which he took out Of its frame
and looked at long and steadily. Then
a family c~ontemptuous smile curled
his lips, and he deliberately tore it
across and threw it into the crate.
The deadened coal warmed into life
as the pieces fell on it, and, after curl
ing them up, consumed them in a bril-
liant flame, which fickered for an in
slant and then died out.
The artist threw up his arms.
God! She hit me hard, as lard as
the rest of the world, but surely
that" and his eyes went to the pic
ture, lis a strong blow at them both.
Oh, my old warrior. it is great to
finish fighting, dealing good strokes to
the last"
His arms fell at his sides, and his
frame shook with another paroxysm of
coughing. His handkerchief bore GRIM
son stains as he took it from his lips.
He san into a chair and remained i'm
movable for some time, and then, 60
ing to the table, drew out a sheet Of
paper, and, taking up a pen, wrote at
some length. When he had finished he
placed the paper in an envelope, sealed
it, and laid it on the easel with his
picture.
I'm case" he whispered to himself,
Gin case"
He lifted the " and took another
long look at his work, and her slowly
put on his Overcoat and hat and left
the room.
Some time later he sat before the
Velasquez picture in the National Gel
lery.
ut came hard at the last, SOLDIER
he a Whispered to the painted form
before him, "the blows bit deeply
through your broken armor, but I
know you finished up with one good
stroke that showed you were a fight
ing man, though in the last your
strength was expended. All. but it is
good to do 50, fighting to the'-
Some Of the attendants ran forward
as the artist fell to the ground, and
lifted him onto q chair.
A smile came to his face, to remain
there. His head fell back.
The warrior had died fighting.-La-
dy's Pictorial.