Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1914-12-21

nurse AS he watched, day after day,
the unwilling of the monumental hills
and the transitions from hazy, wrath
like whispers Of hues to strong, dartns i
riot OF color, this fret Of restlessness
became actual pain. He was wasting
wonderful opportunity and the crea.
tive instinct in him was clamoring.
One morning. when he came out Just
after sunrise to the tin wash basin
at the we'll, the desire to paint was on
him with compelling force. The hills
ended near their bases like things bit
ten of. Beyond lay limitless stream
ers of mist, but, while he stood at gaze.
the fllmy veil began to lift and float
higher. Trees and mountains grew
taller. The sun, which showed first
as ghost-like disk Of polished alumni
mum, struggled through orange and
vermilion into q sphere OF living
flame. Lescott heard voice at his
side.
when does ye low ter commence
paintin'?"
It was Samson. For answer the
artist, with his unhurt hand, impa'
tiently tapped his bandaged wrist.
Eye still got yore right hand. haint
ye?" demanded the boy. The other
laughed. 1t was typical question. So
long as one had the trigger finger left
one should not admit disqualification.
"You see, Samson" he explained.
this isn't precisely like handling q
gun. One must hold the palette; mix
the colors; wipe the brushes and do
half dozen equally necessary things.
1t requires at least two perfectly good
hands. Many people don't find two
enough
But hit only takes one ter do the
paintin'. don't hit?"
"Yes."
"Welr'-the boy spoke dinldently
but with OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES the
two of us we've got three hands.
reckon We kin larn me how ter dc
them other things fer ye."
Lescotts surprise showed In his
face and the lad swept eagerly on.
"Mebby hit hain't none Of my bust.
ness, but, all day yestiddy an the
day befo', was studyin' bout this
here thing, an l hustled up an got
tibet corn weeded an now I'm through.
Ell kin help ye out I thought meb'
by" He paused and looked appeal
ingly at the artist.
Lescott whistled and then his face
lighted into contentment.
To-day. Samson" he announced,
"Lescott. South and Company get
| busy"
1t was the first time he had seen
Samson smile, and, although the ex'
preston was one of sheer delight, in.
herent somberness loaned it touch
of the wistful.
When, an hour later the two set
out, the mountain boy carried the par
aphernalia and the old man standing
at the door watched them Of with a
half-quizzical. half-disapproving glance
AS the boy, with .emarkable apti.
tude learned how to adjust the easel
and arrange the paraphernalia, Lescott
sat drinking in through thirsty eyes
the stretch OF landscape he had deter.
mined to paint.
Then, while he painted, the boy held
the palette, his eyes riveted on the
canvas, which was growing from a
blank to a mirror Of vistas-and the
boys pupils became deeply hungry.
The day of painting was followed
by others like It. The disabling OF
Lescott's left hand made the constant
companionship Of the boy matter
that needed no explanation or apology.
though not matter OF approval to his
uncle.
Another week had passed without
the temperance of Tamarack Spicer.
One afternoon Lescott and Samson
were alone on . cliff-protected shelf,
and the painter had just blocked in
with lumber and neutral tint the crude
sketch of his next picture.
The two men had lost an hour
huddled under canopy beneath the
cannonading Of a sudden storm. They
had silently watched titanic battalions
Of thunder clouds riding the skies In
gusty puffs of gale and raking the
earth with lightning and hall and
water
my God!" exclaimed the mountain
l could paint that"
Lescott rose smlllngly from MS seat
before the easel and surrendered his
palette and sheaf Of brushes.
TRY It," he invited.
For moment Samson stood hest.
tant and overcome with difHdence;
then, with set lips. he took his place
and experimentally fitted his fingers
about the brush, as he had seen Les
colt do. He asked no advice He
merely gazed for while, and then.
dipping brush and experimenting for
his color, went to sweeping in his prt-
mary tones. Samson. even though he
was hopelessly daubing. and knew 1t,
was sincere, and the painter at his
elbow caught his breath and looked on
| with the absorption of prophet. who,
! listening to childish prattle. yet recog-
! nizes the gift of prophecy.
"Thet's the way hit looks ter me"
| the boy said, simply
| That's the way it is" commended
| his critic.
| For while more Samson worked
at the nearer hills, then he rose.
'I'm DONE" he said. "hain't a-goin
| ter fool with them thar trees an
| things. I don't know nothing erbout
tibet. l cant paint leaves an twigs
! an hirdsneafs What | like is noun