After Long Years and Other Stories Part 13

The Damaged Picture

Chapters.

I. The Artist.

II. The Picture.

III. The Discovery.

THE DAMAGED PICTURE

Chapter I

The Artist

If one had been seeking for a man who combined all the qualities of goodness and greatness, one would have chosen artist Laurier. He bore the t.i.tle of "Master of Arts" and his works, mostly landscapes, were famous far and wide. He had ama.s.sed a considerable fortune, and his house was the handsomest building in the city, equipped with every luxury. Besides, it was the home in which all artists, rich or poor, found welcome at all times.

But conditions changed. Hard times, following quickly in the wake of recent wars, had made the demand for art, particularly painting, less and less urgent, till there was no market whatever for the artist's works. Little by little, he had to draw upon his capital in order to support his family. However, he continued to paint with unabated diligence, for he hoped with the betterment of the times to sell his paintings; or if he should not be permitted to live so long, he would leave them as a heritage, for the benefit of his wife and children.

Alas, the great man did not live to carry out his purpose. A contagious disease swept over the country, numbering him among its victims; and he intuitively felt that he would never again rise from his sick bed.

One morning, following a night filled with great pain and misgivings, his dutiful wife was seated at his bedside trying to cloak the great sorrow which she felt at his approaching death. His two little daughters stood at the foot of his bed. The dying man looked tenderly at his wife and children, and said: "Be comforted and weep not. True, I can bequeath you but little; but G.o.d, the Father of the widow and orphans, will watch over you." He then invoked G.o.d's blessing upon them, and with his last breath said, "In heaven we shall meet again." His eyes closed and he pa.s.sed out of this life. Mother and daughters stood convulsed in tears.

The widow now found herself in very straightened circ.u.mstances. Her house was so heavily mortgaged that she could no longer hold it. The pictures which her husband had bequeathed to her were valuable as works of art, but the widow could not realize their worth in money. Soon it became imperative to sell them at auction, at any price. Before the day set for the sale, mother and daughters saw, with anguish, these works hurried off to the auction room. The house, too, fell under the hammer.

The poor, miserable family left the home in which they had lived for many years in love, peace and contentment. Still, a certain pride and satisfaction filled the widow's heart when she realized that, though her husband had died poor, yet he owed no one a penny--that his name stood in the community respected and revered by all the good people. The poor particularly held him in loving memory.

The widow was obliged to seek a new home in a cheap section of the city.

She was an expert in all household arts, particularly in the art of sewing. Each night found the widow busily engaged with her work, the proceeds of which kept the wolf from the door.

Her two daughters, whom she had brought up with the utmost care, were her only joy. They grew into beautiful girlhood, were modest and good, and loved their mother with all the tenderness of devoted childhood.

They, too, helped with the sewing; and their combined efforts, though feeble, were not without visible returns.

Mother and daughters often talked about their departed father. "It gives me great pain," said the mother, "that every picture which your father painted should have been taken from us. If it were but a little landscape that we possessed, how happy I should be. It would enrich our otherwise barren home and make it equal to the most beautiful salon of the grandest castle."

Mother and daughters rarely went anywhere, but every Sunday found them attendants at a church at the other end of the city. There, on those sacred walls, hung a beautiful painting executed by their father. "This indeed is exquisite work," said the mother, and the children fully agreed with her sentiments.

When the services were ended they all slowly wended their way through the city to their modest home. Sunday after Sunday, rain or s.h.i.+ne, found them carrying out the same program, always returning with hearts filled with reverence and peace.

The long, weary winter nights were pa.s.sed reading the books which their father had collected during his lifetime, and which, by the merest accident, had not been disposed of.

Thus they pa.s.sed their days, quietly and contentedly, each one cheerfully doing her daily share of good deeds and good works in this great vineyard of the world, where we have all been placed to do our best.

Chapter II

The Picture

One day, as the mother was examining the apparel, she turned to her daughters and said: "Children, I see that your summer frocks are really very much worn and faded. As we have saved a little more than we expected, I feel that I want to reward you for your diligence and willingness in helping me so faithfully and uncomplainingly, by giving you each some money, with which to buy material for a few new dresses."

She then handed each daughter a hard-earned ten dollar bill, and said: "Select what you wish, and we can make the dresses ourselves."

Both daughters were elated with this generous gift; and at once began to argue with each other as to the shade and material which would be most desirable, and which would also be most durable, from an economical standpoint. At last they started out to make the purchases. Soon they found themselves before a ma.s.sive building, upon which was placed a sign: "Auction Sale of Paintings." Both girls, as an artist's daughters, had an inherited love for pictures.

"Shall we go in?" said Lottie, the elder, to Louise--"Not to buy, of course; for how could we do that? But just to look at the beautiful works."

They stepped timidly and modestly into the great gallery where several gentlemen and many richly gowned ladies had already a.s.sembled. Lottie and Louise remained unnoticed, standing not far from the door.

The auctioneer just then raised a picture to view, and cried: "A landscape, in a handsome gold frame, by the artist Laurier--ten dollars for the first bid."

"Hm," said a portly gentleman, "this picture was certainly executed more hastily than any of his other works. It lacks a certain finish. However, I'm an ardent admirer of Laurier. I bid fifteen dollars."

The children had forgotten all about their dresses, and after a moment's whispering and hesitation, Lottie called out with a beating heart and trembling voice: "Seventeen dollars!"

Several of the ladies and gentlemen turned to see where this gentle, timid voice had come from, and noticed the poorly clad children standing so far back that they could scarcely see the picture. When the children became conscious of the many eyes fastened upon them, they turned pale.

The portly gentleman, without taking any notice of them, continued: "I give nineteen dollars."

Then Lottie said, timidly and almost inaudibly, "Twenty dollars."

"Oh, those dear children," said a friendly lady, "they are the artist's daughters; let us bid no higher, so the picture may be theirs!"

Everyone was deeply affected, praised the deceased artist and father, and respected the love of his daughters.

Then the auctioneer went on calling, "twenty dollars once--twice--for the third and last time." He then summoned Lottie, the purchaser, to take the picture.

Lottie stepped forward to the long table, and laid upon it the two ten dollar bills which her mother had given her.

"You have made a good purchase, my child," said the portly gentleman, "and were you not the daughter of the artist, I would not have let you outbid me."

The a.s.sembled people wished the children luck; and taking the picture, which was not large, both sisters hurried out of the gallery.

"O mother," they cried, as they entered the neat little living room of their home, "we have had great good luck. The wish you have so long expressed is at last fulfilled. See, here is a picture painted by our beloved father."

The mother looked at it for a long time in deep silence, and at last broke forth in tears of joy and homesick longing.