The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1915-02-25

O(M\BERLANDS
~ CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
OF SCENES IN THE PLAY SCI S2&z4Er &22szxx

the palette, mis- eyes rlYeteQ on u q
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 temperance 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
huddled under canopy beneath the
cannonading of 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 God" exclaimed the mountain
boy abruptly. I'D give anything eff
/ could paint that"
Lescott rose smilingly from his seat
before the easel and surrendered his
palette and sheaf Of brushes.
"Try it," he invited.
For a moment Samson stood hesi-
tant and overcome with dif1dence;
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 a while, and then,
dipping brush and experimenting for
his color, went to sweeping in his pri-
mary tones. Samson, even though he
was hopelessly daubing, and knew t.
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 a 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. l don't know nothing erbout
tibet. 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 horseflesh might see only
awkward joints and long legs in a
weanling colt, though it be bred in the
purple.
Samson" he said, earnestly, that's
lei the poetry of color The rest can
be taught. The genius must work, of
work, work, and still
work, but the gift is the power of
seeing true-and, by God, boy, you
have it. You've got what many men
have struggled a lifetime for, and
failed. I'd like to have you study with
me. I'd like to be your discoverer
Look here"
The painter sat down, and speedily
went to work. He painted out moth
Ing. He simply toned, and, with pre-
cisely the right touch here and there,
Boftened the crudeness, laid stress on
the contrast, melted the harshness,
and, when he rose, he had built, upon
the rough cornerstone Of Samson's
laying, a picture.
THAT proves It," he said. II had
only to finish. l didn't have much to
undo. Boy, you're wasting yourself.
Come with me, and let me make you.
We all pretend there is no such thing,
In the. , days, as sheer genius; but,
deep Wn, we know that, unless there
Is, theIJ can be no such thing as true
art. There is genius and you have
It." Enthusiasm was again sweeping
him into an unintended outburst.
The boy stood silent. Across his
swept a conflict Of emo
ions. He looked away, as If taking
with the hills.
ITS what I'm a-honin' fer" he ad-
nitted at last. Hits what I'd give
1alf my life fer. / mout sell
ny la d, an raise the money. .
reel N hit would take passels of
money wouldn't hit?" He paused, and
lis ey fell on the rife leaning against
he tr }. His lips frightened in sudden
'emeu orance. He went over and
,ickeC up the gun, and, as he did so,
le shC TX his head.
NO. he stolidly declared; every
nan to his own tools. This here's
nine"
Yet, when they were again out
ketching, the temptation to play with
brushes once more seized him, and he
ook his place before the easel.
Neither he nor Lescott noticed man
yho crept down through the timber,
nd for a time watched them. The
mans face wore a surly, contemptuous
rim, and shortly it withdrew.
But, an hour later, while the boy
vas still working industriously and
he artist was lying on his back, with
pipe between his teeth, and his half
losed eyes gazing up contentedly
through the green Of overhead
ranches. their peace was broken by
guffaw of derisiye laughter. They