Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1915-02-12
ESTABLISHED 1866.
,rJApTER V-Continued.

nurse. AS he watched, day after day'
the unveiling Of the monumental hlils'
and the transitions from hazy, wraltn-
like whispers Of hues to strong, haring
riot of color, this fret Of restlessness
became actual pain. He was wastins
wonderful opportunity and the crea-
tive instinct in him was clamoring.
One morning, when he came out
lust 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 bitten off. Beyond lay limitless
streamers of mist, but while he stood
at gaze, the filmy veil began to lit
and float higher. Trees and mountains
grew taller. The sun, which showed
first as a ghost-like disk Of polished
aluminium, struggled through orange
and vermilion into sphere OF living
flame. Lescott heard a voice at his
side.
when does ye low ter commence
paintin'?"
artist, with his unhurt hand, impa-
tiently tapped his bandaged wrist
I'VE still got yore right hand, hain't
ye?" demanded the boy. The other
laughed. 1t was a typical question. SO
long as one had the trigger finger
left one should not admit disqualifi-
cation.
You see, Samson" he explained,
this isn't precisely like handling
gun. One must hold the palette; mix
the colors; wipe the brushes and do
half a dozen equally necessary things.
It 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"
"Well'-the boy spoke diffidently
but with enthusiam-"between the
two of us we've got three hands. 1
reckon We kin larn me how ter do
them other things fer ye."
Lescott's surprise showed in his
face and the lad swept eagerly on.
"Mebby hit hain't none Of my busi-
ness, but, all day yestiddy an the
day befo' was studin' bout this
here thing, an 1 hustled up an got
thet corn weeded an now I'm through.
Eff 1 kin help We 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 watching them off with a
with a half quizzical, half-disapproving
glance.
AS the boy, with remarkable apti-
tude, learned how to adjust the easel
and arrange the paraphernalia, Les
colt sat drinking in through thirsty
eyes the stretch of landscape he had
determined 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 a matter
that needed no explanation or apology,
though not matter Of approval to his
uncle.
Another week had passed without
the re-appearance Of Tamarack
Spicer.
One afternoon Lescott and Samson
were alone on a cliff-protected shelf,
and the painter had just blocked in
with umber and neutral tint the crude
sketch of his next picture.
The two men had lost an hour
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 hail and
water
MY Godv' exclaimed the mountain
boy abruptly. I'D give anything eff
l could paint that"
Lescott rose smilingly from his seat
before the easel and surrendered his
palette and sheaf of brushes.
Try 1t" he invited.
For a moment Samson stood hesi-
tant and overcome with diffidence;
then. with set lips. he took his place
and experimentally fitted his fingers
about the brush, as he had seen Les
cott do. He asked no advice. He
merely gazed for a while, and then,
dipping a brush and experimenting for
his color, went to sweeping in his pri-
mary tones. Samson, even though he
was hopelessly daubing, and knew it,
was sincere, and the painter at his
elbow caught his breath and looked on
with the absorption of prophet, who.
listening toch ildish 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 a while more Samson worked
at the nearer hills, then he rose.
I'm DONE" he said. "hain't a-goin'
ter fool with then thar trees an
things I don't know nothing erbout
thet. l can't paint leaves an twigs
an birdsnests. What l like is noun
tings an skies an sech-like things"
Lescott looked at the daub before
him. A less trained eye would have
seen only the daub, just as a poor
judge of horsefiesh might see only
awkward joints and long legs in
holt fbnpph he hra6 IN tho