Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-09-14

"And Milly and Theodoreo'
They're going abroad with their Aunt
Julia"
"Who has rented Thimble Island?'
AN artist-who will occupy the bark
cabin. My agents thought it as well to have
someone there until the builders began. A
Mr.. Markham
"Markham!" Hernia gasped.
"Do you know him.
"Oh-er- enough to be sure that he is not
the kind of person shall care to cultivate
And then, as her aunt wavered uncertainty,
ooh, of course | shall get along. can't pro-
test. It's your privilege to choose Milly's
friends, even if you mean to exclude me. It's
also my privilege to choose my friends, and
| shall do so. If this means that | am taboo
at your houses, | shall respect your wishes;
but | hope you'll remember that you are
all welcome at Wake Robin or here when
ever you see fit to visit me-
Having delivered herself of this speech,
Hernia paused, sure of her effect and calmly
awaiting the usual recantation and recon-
citation. But to her surprise Mrs. Westfeld
continued to move slowly toward the door,
through which, after formal word of fare
well, she presently disappeared.
Hernia stared at the empty doorway and
pondered-really on the verge OF tears. The
whole proceeding violated all precedents es-
taDl1She0 Tor 1nel1eCtual auntS.
CHAPTER Nv. Marooned
TN the course of an early grimage in
search of an unfrequented spot where he
might work out of doors undisturbed in June,
before going to Normandy, Markham had
stumbled quite by accident upon Thimble
Island. There, to his delight, he had discov-
cred the exact combination of rocks, foliage.
and barren he was looking for, the painters
landscape. The island was separated from
the mainland by an arm of the sea, wide
enough to keep at safe distance the fash
ionable cottagers in the adjacent commit
nifty.
He had established himself, bag and bag
gage, and at the end of two weeks row of
canvases along the wall of his room bore
testimony to his diligence. To Markham
they had been weeks of undiluted happiness.
He was working out in his own way some
themes of color that would in time prove to
others that he knew Nature as well as he
knew humanity; that the brutal truths peo-
pie saw in his portraits were brutal only be-
cause they were true; and to prove to him
self that somewhere in him, deeply hidden,
was vein of tenderness that now sought ex-
preston.
Every day he was learning something.
This morning, for instance, he had risen be-
fore daylight to try an effect in grays that
he had missed two days before. The day
had just begun, and Markham stood before
his easel facing to the eastward painting
madly, trying in the few short moments that
remained to him before sunrise to put upon
his canvas the evanescent tints of the dawn.
He painted madly because the canvas was
not yet covered, and because he knew that
within twenty minutes at the most the sun
would rise behind him and the witching mys-
terry of the halflight be gone. He stood up
right, painting at arms length, with full
brush and broad sweep of wrist and arm;
oobs of paint from the tubes melted into
pearly grays and puppies i'll the middle Of
his palette, to be quickly transposed and
placed tone beside tone, like pale mosaic
enriched and blended by the soft fingers of
ime. His motive was simple,-a rock,
some trees, stretch of sandy waste, backed
by rugged hill and glimpse of sea. all
bathed in mist, and his brush moved de-
cisively, heavily at times, lightly, caress-
ingly at others. as the sketch grew to COM
pletion, while his dark eyes glowed behind
their hideous goggles, and the firm lines at
his mouth relaxed into smile. For this mo-
ment at least he was tasting Immortality
and it was good!
HIGH above him in the air there moved
- speck, growing larger with every mo-
ment; but he did not see it or hear the faint