The Green Forest tribune., 1915-02-26

him rigidly to the limitations of black and white, but now they took off the bonds and permitted him the colorful delight of attempting to express him. self from the palette. It was like per mitting natural poet to leave prose and play with prosody.
 One day Adrienne looked up from a sheaf of his very creditable landscape studies to inquire suddenly:
 Samson, are you a rich man or a poor one?"
 He laughed. "So rich" he told her, that unless l can turn some of this stuff into money within a year or two l shall have to go back to hoeing corn"
 She nodded gravely.
 Hasn't it occurred to you," she demanded, that in a way you are wasting your gifts? They were talk ing about you the other evening-sev- eral painters. They all said that you should be doing portraits"
 The Kentuckian smiled. His mas ters had been telling him the same thing. He had fallen in love with art through the appeal of the skies and hills. He had followed it's call at the proselyting of George Lescott, who painted only landscape. Portraiture seemed less artistic form of expres- sion. He said so.
 That may all be very true," she conceded, but you can go on with traits pay the way. And" she added, since 1 am very vain and moderately rich, 1 hereby commission you to paint me, just as soon as you learn how"
 Farbish had simply dropped out. Bit by bit the truth of the conspiracy had leaked, and he knew that his useful ness was ended and that well-lined pocketbooks would no longer open to his prof1igate demands.
 r Sally had started to school She had not announced that she meant to do so, but each day the people of Misery saw her old sorrel mare making it's way to and from the general direction of Stagbone college, and they smiled. No one knew how Sally's cheeks famed as she sat alone on Saturdays and Sundays on the rock at the back bones rift. She was taking her place, morbidly sensitive and a woman of oi .Lo T girls in short skirts, and the little girls were more advanced than she. But she, too, meant to have "1'arnin' "- as much of it as was necessary to sat isfy the lover who might never come. And yet, the "fotched-on" teachers at the College" thought her the most voraciously ambitious pupil they had ever had, so unf1aggingly did she toll, and the most remarkably acquisitive, so fast did she learn. But her studies had again been interrupted, and Miss Grover, her teacher, riding over one day to find out why her prize scholar had deserted, met in the road an empty "jolt wagon," followed by a ragged cortege of mounted men and women, whose faces were still lugu. brious with the effort of recent mourning. Her question elicited the information that they were returning from the "buryin'" of the Widow Mil Ter
 
 Towards the end of that year Sam son undertook his portrait of Adri- enne Lescott. The work was nearing completion, but it had been agreed that the girl herself was not to have a peep at the canvas until the painter was ready to unveil it in a finished condition. Often, as she posed Will fred Horton idled in the studio with them, and often George Lescott came to criticize, and left without criticiz- ing. The girl was impatient for the day when she, too, was to see the pie ture, concerning which the three men maintained so profound a secrecy. She knew that Samson was a painter who analysed with his brush, and that his picture would show her not only fea- lures and expression, but the mans estimate of herself.
 Do you know" he said one day. coming out from behind his easel and studying her, through half-closed eyes, q never really began to know you un- til now? Analyzing you-studying you in this fashion, not by your words. but by your expression, your pose, the very unconscious essence of your per- sonality-these things are iIluminat- ing"
 Although I am not painting you," she said with smile, q have been studying you, too. As you stand there before your canvas your own person ality is revealed-and I have not been entirely unobservant myself"
 And under the X-ray scrutiny of this profound analysis he said with a laugh, "do you like me?"
 Wait and see," she retorted.
 At all events"-he spoke gravely- you must try to like me a little, be- cause I am not what I was. The per son that I am is largely the creature