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第48章

the fortunes of oliver horn-第48章

小说: the fortunes of oliver horn 字数: 每页4000字

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oman。〃

The girl's eyes again sought the woodpecker。 It was stabbing away with all its might; driving its beak far into the yielding bark。 It seemed in some way to represent her own mood。 After a moment's thought she said thoughtfully as she rested her head on the edge of the slant:

〃Ollie; what is a gentleman?〃 She knew; she thought; but she wanted him to define it。

〃My father is one;〃 he said; positively; 〃and so is yours;〃 and he looked inquiringly into her face。

〃That depends on your standard。 I don't know your father; but I do mine; and from what you have told me about yours I think they are about as different  as two men can be。 Answer my questionwhat is a gentleman?〃 She was leaning over a little; and tucking a chip under her toes to keep the water away from her shoes。 Her eyes sought his again。

〃A gentleman; Madgewhy; you know what a gentleman is。 He is a man well born; well educated;  and well bred。 That's the standard at home at least; that's my mother's。 Father's standard is the same; only he puts it in a different way。 He says a gentleman is a man who tolerates other people's  mistakes and who sympathizes with other people's  troubles。〃

〃Anything else?〃 She was searching his face now。 There were some things she wanted to settle in her own mind。

〃I don't think of anything else; Madge; deardo you?〃 He was really dismissing the question。 His thoughts were on something elsethe way her hair curled from under her worsted cap and the way her pink ears nestled close to her head; especially the  little indents at each corner of her mouth。 He liked their modelling。

〃And so according to your mother's and father's ideas; and those of all your aristocratic people at home; Hank here could not be a gentleman if he tried?〃

The idea was new to Oliver。 He had become conscious  now。 What had gotten into Margaret to…day!

〃Hank?no; certainly not。 How could he?〃

〃By BEING a gentleman; Mr。 Aristocrat。 Not in clothes; mind younor money; nor furniture; nor wines; nor carriages; but in HEART。 Think a moment; Ollie;〃 and her eyes snapped。 〃Hank finds a robin that has tumbled out of its nest; and spends half a day putting it back。 Hank follows you up the brook and sees you try to throw a fly into a pool; and he knows just how awkwardly you do it; for he's the best fisherman  in the woodsand yet you never see a smile cross his face; nor does he ever speak of it behind your backnot even to me。 Hank walks across Moose Hillock to find old Jonathan Gordon to tell him he has some big trout in Loon Pond; so that the old man can have the fun of catching them and selling them afterward to the new hotel in the Notch。 He has walked twenty…four miles when he gets back。 Do these things make Hank a gentleman; or not?〃

〃Then you don't believe in Sir Walter Raleigh; Miss Democrat; simply because he was a lord?〃

〃Yesbut I always thought he wore his old cloak that day on purpose; so he could be made an earl。〃 And a ripple of laughter escaped her lips。

Oliver laughed too; sprang to his feet; and held out his hands so as to lift her up。 None of these fine…drawn distinctions really interested himcertainly  not on this day; when he was so happy。 Why; he wondered; should she want to discuss theories and beliefs and creeds; with the beautiful forest all about and the sky breaking overhead?

〃Well; you've walked over mine many a time; Miss Queen Elizabeth; and you haven't decorated me yet; nor made me an earl nor anything else for it; and I'm not going to forgive you either;〃 and he rose to his feet。 〃Look! Madge; look!〃 he cried; and sprang out into the path; pointing to the sunshine  bursting through the treesthe storm had passed as suddenly as it had come。 〃Isn't it glorious!  Come here quick! Don't wait a minute。 I should try to get that with Naples yellow and a little chromewhat do you think?〃 he asked when she stood beside him; half closing his eyes; to get the effect the better。

Margaret looked at him curiously for a moment。 She did not answer。 〃I cannot fasten his mind on anything in which I am interested;〃 she said to herself;  with a sigh; 〃nor shall I ever overcome these prejudices which seem to be part of his very life。〃

She paused a moment and an expression of pain passed over her face。

〃Pale cadmium would be better;〃 she said; quietly;  with a touch of indifference in her tone; and led the way out of the forest to the main road。




CHAPTER XV

MRS。 TAFT'S FRONT PORCH



The autumn fires were being kindled on the mountains fires of maple; oak; and birch。 Along the leaf…strewn roads the sumach blazed scarlet; and over the rude stone fences blood…red lines of fire  followed the trend of leaf and vine。 Golden pumpkins  lay in the furrows of the corn; showers of apples carpeted the grass of the orchards; the crows in straight lines; and the busy squirrels worked from dawn till dark。

Over all settled the requiem haze of the dead summer; blurring the Notch and softening Moose Hillock to a film of gray against the pale sky。

It had been a summer of very great sweetness and charmthe happiest of Oliver's life。 He had found that he could do fairly well the things that he liked to do best; that the technical difficulties that had  confronted him when he began to paint were being  surmounted as the weeks went by; and that the thing that had always been a pain to him had now become a pleasurepain; because; try as he might; the quality  of the result was always below his hopes; a pleasure;  because some bit of bark; perhaps; or glint of light on moss…covered rock; or tender vista had at last stood out on his canvas with every tone of color true。

Only a painter can understand what all this meant to Oliver; only an out…of…door painter; really。 The 〃studio…man〃 who reproduces an old study which years before has inspired him; or who evolves a  composition from his inner consciousness; has no such thrills over his work。 He may; perhaps; have other sensations; but they will lack the spontaneous outburst  of enthusiasm over the old sketch。

And how glorious are the memories!

The victorious painter has been weeks over these same trees that have baffled him; he has painted them on gray days and sunny days; in the morning; at noon; and in the gloaming。 He has loved their texture and the thousand little lights and darks; the sparkle of the black; green; or gray moss; and the delicate tones that played up and down their stalwart  trunks。 He has toiled in the heat of the day; his nerves on edge; and sometimes great drops of sweat on his troubled forehead。 Now and then he has sprung from his seat for a farther…away look at his sketch。 With a sigh and a heart bowed down (oh; how desolate are these hours!) he has noted how wooden and commonplace and mean and despicable his work waswhat an insult he has cast upon the beautiful yellow birch; this outdoor; motionless; old model that has stood so patiently before him; posing all day without moving; its big arms above its head its leaves and branches stock…still to make it all the easier for him。

Suddenly in all this depression; an inspiration has entered his dull brainhe will use burnt umber in stead of Vandyke brown for the bark! or light chrome and indigo instead of yellow ochre and black for the green!

Presto! Ah; that's like it! Another pat; and another; and still one more!

How quickly now the canvas loses its pasty mediocrity。  How soon the paint and the brush…marks and the niggly little touches fade away and the THING ITSELF comes out and says 〃How do you do?〃 and that it is so glad to see him; and that it has been lurking behind these colors all day; trying to make his acquaintance; and he would have none of it。 What good friends he and the sketch have become now; how proud he is of it; and of possessing it and of CREATING it! Then little quivery…quavers go creeping  up and down his spine and away out to his fingertips;  and he KNOWS that he has something really GOOD。

He carries it home in his hand; oh; so carefully (he strapped its predecessor on his back yesterday without  caring); and a dozen times he stops to look at its dear face; propping it against a stump for a better light; just to see if he had not been mistaken after all。 He can hardly wait

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