Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1905-09-18

leaned her cheek against his head.
"Back already, dear?" she said; and
the tone fully indicated the position in
which she stood toward her parent. 81
thought you were going to make
long day of it."
Eyes, yes,' he said, without taking
his eyes from the sketch, Il did intend
doing SO. l started full of my subject
and-er-inspired with hope. And
don't think I have altogether failed.
1t is difficult-very. The tone of that
sky would fill a careless amateur with
despair; but-but | am not careless.
Whatever may be am not that. The
secrets of Art, which she hides from
the unthinking and irreverent, she con-
fides to her true worshipers. Now,
Leslie, look at that sky. Look at it
carefully, critically, and tell me, do
you think have caught that half tone
that delicious mingling of the
chrome and the ultramarine? There
is a wealth of form and color in that
right-hand corner, anu Yes, | think
it is the best-by far the best and
truest thing | have as yet DONE"
Leslie leaned forward, and softly
, and swiftly placed the picture right
side up.
1t was not very much improved by
the transposition. 1t was-well, to put
it bluntly-a dalrb of the most awful
description. Never since the world
began had there, even in Nature, been
| anything like it; the average school
| boy ibeling her with shilling box of
colors could not have sinned more
| deeply. The sea was a brilliant wash
er-woman's blue, the hills were heaps
of muddy ochre, the fishing-vessels
looked like black beetles struggling on
their backs; there was COW in the
! meadow in the foreground, which
would have wrung tears from anyone
who had ever set eyes on that harm
less but necessary animal, and the "bit
of sky in the corner was utterly ana
completely indescribable.
Leslie looked at it with a sad little
expression in her eyes-the plying
look one sees in the face of woman
whose life is spent in humoring the
weakness of beloved one; then she
said gently:
1T is very striking, papa"
Striking" repeated Francis Lisle.
Striking! I like that word. You, too,
are an artist, my dear Leslie, though
/ You never touch a brush. How well
Z 70 I,
sion. fatter myself that it is strik>
ing. think l may say, without egot-
ism, that no one, no real critic could
| look at that sketch-for it is a mere
| sketch-Without being struck"
yes, papa she murmmed sooth.
ingly.
He shaded his eyes with his thin.
white hands in the orthodox fashion
and peered at the monstrosity.
There is, if I may say so, amer
originality in the treatment which
would alone make the sketch interest
ing and valuable. Tell me. now, Les
lie, what is in it that catches your
fancy most?"
Il think that heap of sea-weed is
nicely painted, papa" she said, putting
! her arm round his neck.
Heap of sea-weed ?"-nis brows
knitted-"heap of sea-weed? I don't
see anything of the kind"
There, papa" she said, pointing.
my dear Leslie, have always sus-
pected that your sight was not per-
| feet, that there was some defect in it's
range power. That is not heap OF
i sea-weed, but a fisherman mending his
nets!"
"Of course. How stupid of mel"
she said, quickly. I'm afraid l am
near-sighted, dear But done you
think you have done enough for to-
day? Why not put it away until to-
morrow"
There is no tomorrow, Leslie" he
said, gravely, as he got out uis palette.
art is long and time is tieeting-
never forget that, my dear No; I can
stipple in little. 1 intend finishing
this sketch and making miniature
a cabinet picture. 1t shall be worthy
| OF place among those exquisite
sketches of Birnet rosters; and yeti
he sighed and pushed the hair from his
forehead-"and yet, I'll be bound that
if l tried to sell it I should not find
a dealer to give me few paltry
pounds for it, so blind and prejudiced
they all are. No, they would not buy
it, and possibly the Academy would re-
fuse to exhibit it. Prejudice. But
art has it's own rewards, thank Heav-
en-! paint because l must-fame has
no attraction. I am content to wait
yes, though recognition which is my
due may come too late. 1t is Oxen
| thus"
| The girl bent her beautiful head
she stood taller than the dropping
figure of her father-and kissed-ah,
how tenderly, pittyingly!-the gray
| hair