Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1928-10-14

customed to American lack of Formally
stepped to the cook stove and stood by
it. holding to the heat his delicate, thin
fingers, and looking about him with OBJ
servant eyes.
He glanced at the battered zinc sink
with the greasy dish-towels hanging
about it, at the rusty iron stove: he
! chrome and at the green dog; but, once
his eyes fell on the powerful, sullen, sem
Stive profile of the girl, he looked at
nothing else.
| Presently, after silence so long that
Helena had forgotten his presence, he
said, enunciating his words with a neat
ness strange to that room
will you allow me, mademoiselle, to
see what you have drawn on the corner
| of your paper?"
| The girl gave Mortified start, as if
he had struck her, and clapped her hand
down upon the paper, turning her head
to glover at him suspiciouSly.
He looked back at her, holding out his
hand. Il think see quality in it. And
know something about drawing 1t is
conceivable that you may have talent. "
The last sentence Teverberated in the
piteouSly mean and ugly room like roll
Of drums. Helena looked at him long
time shaken by the echo of it.
Then, silently she took her hand from
the paper. He stood beside her and
looked down at it carefully.
After a time, Anything else?" he
asked with interest.
Helena quivered at the quality of his
tone. Looking apprehensively over her
shoulder, she drew from between the
pages of her algebra a sheet on which
she had made four cruel studies of her
teacher, the Savagery of which had SOL
aced her for all of "a hours.
At the first glimpse of these, the cid
erly Frenchman burst into delighted
"Ha! ha! hal" that brought the color
up into Helena'S sallow cheeks.
He examined the little grotesques
through glasses. nodding his head and
chuckling. "More?" he asked holding
out his hand again, his amused eyes
still on the caricatures.
X X x x
HELENA, hot and cold, her throat
l. dry, went stealthily up the back
stairs to her attic room and brought
back a bit of smooth board on which
she had tried to paint with casual odds
and ends of house paint) the portrait
of an old pine tree she passed on her
way to school. an ancient, shaggy, re-
sistant, powerful creature, the only
thing about her which Helena did not
hate.
To show her attempt to paint what it
had meant to her was like tearing open
the flesh over her heart. The instant
after she had set it in the others hand
she reached out her own to snatch it
back.
But. at the expression on the elderly
Frenchman's face her hands dropped
to her side, her face turning very white,
the water coming into her hard young
eyes.
He was looking at her portrait of the
only strength and dignity she had ever
recognized, with a deep, grave, imper-
sinai consideration.
Helena had never seen anybody look
at anything like that, but she recog-
nized the expression as her birthright.
That was the way she was born to look
at. everything visible.
She stood there, waiting, sickened by
her suspense. Then he looked at her
with the same deep, grave, considering
look he had given to her painting.
He laid it down on the table, and ad-
dressed himself wholly to her pressing
home what he said with his intent eyes.
He told her-She never forgot one OF
the words he said-at any hour there
after. If she looked back to that turn
ing point of her life, she could hear
them tolling solemnly in her ears-he
said:
MY child, you are greatly gifted.
Never forget that Never think of any,
thing else than your gift. Fight for it.
Give yourself to it. Let nothing stand