ork and the roughly tender solicitude of a young stoic for his mother. His evenings bef

ncle Spicer wanted him, and he went, and the head of the family took charge of his property as guardian; placed a kinsman there to till it, on shares, and faithfully set aside for the boy what revenue came from the stony acres. He knew that they would be rich acres when men began to dig deeper than the hoe could scratch, and opened the veins where the coal slept its unstirring sleep. The old man had not set such s

rs now, the peace had been unbroken save by sporadic assassinations, none of which could be specifically enough charged to the feud account to warrant either side in regarding the contract as broken. Samson, being a child, had been forced to accept the terms of this peace bondage. The day would come when the Souths could agree to no truce without his consent. Such was, in brief, the story that the artist heard while he painted and rested that day on the rock. Had he heard it in New York, he would have discounted it

t's left hand made the constant companionship of the boy a matter that need

d without the reappear

icture. In the foreground was a steep wall, rising palisade-like from the water below. A kingly spruce-pine gave the near note for a perspective which went away across

water. The crags had roared back echoing defiance, and the great trees had lashed and bent and tossed like weeds in the buffeting. Every gully had become a stream, and every gulch-rock a waterfall. Here and there had been a crashing of spent timbe

n boy abruptly. "I'd give 'most

at before the easel, and surrender

," he i

experimentally fitted his fingers about a brush, as he had seen Lescott do. He asked no advice. He merely gaze

nt on canvas as the mixing of colors on the palette, for he knew that the palette is the painter's heart, and its colors are the elements of his soul. What a man paints on canvas is the sum of his acq

ed with a brush dipped in the sunset. The heavy clouds with their gossamer edgings had

at on the palette, and he

ng him a tube of Payne's Gray: "

abel, and decisiv

" he declared. "There hain't n

suited the action to the word, and soon

ruth to have satisfied any eye save one of uncompromising sincerity. 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 a prophet, who, listening to childis

it looks ter me,"

it is," commen

on worked at the neare

hings. I don't know nothing erbout thet. I can't paint leaves an' twigs an

only the daub, just as a poor judge of horse-flesh might see only awkwar

etry of color. The rest can be taught. The genius must work, of course-work, work, work,

s rang e

deprecated Samson, wiping his

conscious that he was falling into metaphor which his companion could not understand, then more quietly he went on: "I don't know how you would progress, Samson, in detail

ecisely the right touch here and there, softened the crudeness, laid stress on the contrast, melted th

ke you. We all pretend there is no such thing, in these days, as sheer genius; but, deep down, we know that, unless there is, ther

ce swept a conflict of emotions. He looked

e money.... I reckon hit would take passels of money, wouldn't hit?" He paused, and his eyes fell on the rifle leaning against

d; "every man to his own

e took his place before the easel. Neither he nor Lescott noticed a man who crept down through the timbe

ient of jests, the gawking of boobs at some new sight, could hardly have improved on this tableau. At the front stood Tamarack Spicer, the returned wanderer. His lean wrist was stretched out of a ragged sleeve all too short, and his tattered "jimmy" was shoved back over a face all a-grin. His eyes were blood-shot with recent drinking, but his manner was in exaggerated and cumbersome imitation of a rural master of ceremonies. At his back were the raw-boned men and women and children of the hills, to the

outh engaged in his mar-ve-lous an' heretofore undiscovered occupation of doin' fancy work. Ladies and gentle-men, after this here show is conclooded,

ed again. The old wo

n't never low ter see ye doin'

ded to experiment with a fleeting cloud effect, which would not outlast the moment. He finished that, and, reach

Spicer's chattering lips, and they abruptly ceased to chatter as the teeth were driven into their flesh. Spicer's head snapped back, and he staggered against the onlookers, where he stood rocking on his unsteady legs. His han

r any lingering sign of mirth or criticism. There was none. Every countenance was sober and expressionless, but the b

ought ter a-done that. He

It was his first word. They lifted the fallen cousin, whose entertainment had gone astray, and led hi

been?" dema

s," came the famil

was ye the only South thet runned away, when the

ith them damned Hollmans stickin' their noses inter our business, I'd hurt somebody. So, I went over inte

n paused for breath, and went on with regained calmness. "I've knowed all along ye was the man, an' I've kept quiet because ye're 'my kin. If ye've got anything else ter say, say hit. But, ef I ever ketches yer talkin' about me, or talkin' ter Sally, I'm a-goin' ter take ye by the scruff of the