The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1910-09-01

tnev were so rev ana irregular. At
another time he wrote:
THE work is progressing rap
idly Daily the canvas grows more
beautiful. but in this | must accord a
share of praise to the girl who is
posing for the figure in the picture,
for it is often her quick, kindly smile
and soft glances of encouragement
that urge me to bring the best art
there is in me to the surface. Like
myself, she is an American; and when
the shadows thicken and it grows
too dark to paint, we sit by the studio
fire and chat about old friends and
home, sweet home. But for this dur
ing the first days the loneliness would
have become unbearable, and / think
l would have been tempted to throw
It up and so back to the old life and
(here the page turnedr and Margue
rites eyes frightened expectantly) all
my friends in the land of the Stars
and Stripes"
Marguerite quietly tossed the letter
on the blazing logs with a scornful
toss of her head. Not a word about
her own sacrifice in sending him away
from her to make something of his
life, but only words of praise for the
girl who had so lately come into their
world
Spring found the Chantrys in Eu-
rope. They fingered longest in fair
Italy, the land of azure skies and
golden sunlight, and the home of the
old masters. Their ancient paintings
had a peculiar fascination for Mar
guerite, and she often found herself
thinking of Paul Worthington with a
wistful tenderness. and wondering If
his name would ever be classed
among the famous painters of pic
lures.
Upon their arrival in Rome they
found the city ringing with the
praises of an unknown artist named
Clyde. whose picture was on exhibit
ton in the art gallery. Even the
critics were silent before it; there
was not a flaw in the exquisite paint
ing
At the first opportunity Marguerite
Chantry visited the gallery and wait
ed patiently until the crowd permitted
her to stand in the line that viewed
the famous painting. There were
other pictures by the same artist
hanging in the room, but it was before
this one that the crowds fingered.
This is his masterpiece" they said
softly, almost reverently.
Gradually the crowd melted away
and Marguerite stood before the won
derful picture. Like a dream sea
stretched the field of snowy daisies
with flaming hearts of gold, as If the
dazzling whiteness of their petals had
lured the golden sun from its home In
the high heavens and imprisoned 1t
in their hearts, and from this starry
carpet, like a spirit of the mist, rose
slender gray-eyed girl in f1lmy
white; her arms were filled with the
pale, pure blossoms, and half sadly,
half tenderly, she gaZed on their
snowy loneliness. A butterfly ex-
quisitely tinted and flecked with gold.
poised on one velvet petal as If ready
to take flight, and yet loved to linger
amid such beauty. White wind-tossed
clouds were overhead, and the glor-
] ious light of morning tinged the en-
tire painting with an ethereal glow.
Marguerite felt as if the ground
were slowly slipping from beneath
her feet, for the girl on the canvas
was herself Bewildered she sought
her catalogue. Opposite the number
Of the picture she read. "Marguerites.
/ BY Paul Clyde Worthington."
A mist swan before her eyes and
she swayed slightly. Suddenly the
crowd parted and a tall commanding
| figure stood before the picture. Mar
guerite felt her Icy fingers caught in
a strong warm clasp and voice vi
brant with tenderness whispered.
Marguerite"
| In silent wonder they both exam
ined the product Of his brush and
brain: truly it was his masterpiece.
Slowly the truth dawned on Margue-
rite. 1t was she alone who had been
| his model-she alone for whom he
had done this thing-and while her
fingers trembled in his like fright
ened bird, he drew her gently through
the crowd to her waiting carriage.