WEDDED TO ART.

Patea Mail, Volume IX, Issue 1099, 15 October 1883, Page 4

WEDDED TO ART.

LITERATURE.

An English- Story. An old-fashioned farm-house, large and hospitable-looking; lowing cattle and bleating sheep; undulating hills, clad in„autumnal verdure; in front, across the winding country road, an orchard wealthy in russet and golden fruit; in the rear, a brook that goes prattling and gleaming past the capacious barn, from whose windows peep golden sheaves, and under whose eaves cling the bulky swallows’ nests. Such were the features of a pleasant rural scene to be enjoyed by the wayfarer along a certain road in the autumn time. The door of the farm-house opens, and with a laugh and a bound, Lelia Carter, a maiden of about sixteen comes racing out, with a shepherd dog leaping and bounding by her side. Very . charming indeed she looked, with her lovely face .and sparkling eyes, half hidden beneath the wide straw hat, as she ran gaily along the ' roadside or in the fields, now stopping to caress some halfgrown lamb, now wild with excitement as a stray rabbit bounded from covert, and proceeded rapidly to leave out of sight the fat shepherd dog. ‘ Here, ‘ Sport,’ fetch it,’ she cries, as she tosses a slick far over a clump of thick undergrowth. On the other side of the dump, hidden from view, sat a young man, busily sketching. The stick fell upon his easel, and striking his pencil, knocked it from his fingers. ‘ Hang - ;it IV he growled. ‘Who threw that ?’ looking up just ns Lclia and ‘ Sport ’ came racing into sight. Lelia stopped short as she saw the Btpn\g<?r; bul l Sport,’ nothing abashed, ran on, picked up the stick, npset the easel in doing so, and with a quick bound escaping the full force of the kick aimed at him, came wagging back to his mistress. * Haven’t yon anything better to do, miss, than running over the country spoiling a fellow’s work?’ queried the vexed stranger, as he picked np the easel and brushed off the rotten wood adhering to the canvas. He was a handsome dark-looking young; fellow of about twenty-two, with features indicative of strength and selfreliance. As he glanced again at Lelia, and obtained a full view of her for the first time, his expression softened into one of admiration. She was stooping over ‘ Sport’ tenderly, but fire was in her eyes as she turned them toward the young man. ‘ How dare you kick my dog 7’ she demanded. He was about to speak more civilly than before, when a sudden idea entered his bend, and he began again to sketch rapidly. * That’s all he’s good for, I daresay—to be kicked,’he answered carelessly at length. ‘ You don’t know anything about it. He’s the best dog in the world, and yon’re a brnte for kicking him,’ said fearless sixteen. He sketched away as though his life depended on it. 1 Oh, well,’ after another pause, 1 1 didn’t , hurt him much after all. He was too qnick for me.’ ‘Yon meant to though, and it was just as mean as though you did.’ * Well, yon see, I was angry because he upset my work,’ ‘I don’t care,’ said Lelia ‘he was only trying to please me, weren’t yon * Sport ?’ ’ Ho looked at her again, then at the canvass, then added a few more strokes. ‘ Really, I don’t see how he can be blamed for that.’ And lie glanced admiringly at her. Either the look or the words (she wasn’t used to compliments) mollified her somewhat. * Besides,’ I’ll make amends’ he added. ‘ How would you like a picture of ‘ Sport ?’ She came forward, and saw not only * Sport,’ but herself bending over him, with a mixture of tenderness and indignation in her expression that had been very ideverly portrayed. He drew out his sketch book in the meantime, and hastily sketching * Sport’ on a leaf, tore it off/ and handed it to her with a bow. ‘ Isn’t .it lovely 1’ she exclaimed. * HoV conld you do it so soon ? What are you going to do with this large picture?’ * I, have, some hopes of winning a prize next spring with it. Five minutes ago I felt like giving it np ; now I feel rather confident of it. That was the reason I spoke to you as I did at first. I was afraid you would go away, so I made you angry.’ ‘ I was angry, and I called you a brute too, didn’t I ? Well,, I dont care ; you had no right to kick poor ‘ Sport,’ and she pouted prettily, whereat he and humbly begged * Sport’s ’ pardon. ‘ Isn’t your name Miss Carter?’ he inquired, abruptly. ‘ Yes, sir, it is.’ ‘ Did you never hear of a fellow by the name of Ivan Kirke ?’ ‘ Why, yes, of course I have. That is old Kirke’s son, the one that was a lazy good-for-nothing fellow, and didn’t want to be a farmer, and went away five or six years ago.’ He bit his lips and smiled. * I am that lazy, good-for-nothing fellow,’ he said; or, at least, I was. I hope I have improved since then, though I don’t want to be a farmer even now.’ ‘ I didn’t know. I am sorry. I didn’t mean— ’ * Oh, never mind. I dare say I was lazy and good-for-nothing on a farm. I nsed to mope and dream when I have been at work. They didn’t understand me and I don’t blame them ; I didn’t understand myself; yonr father was about the only one that sympathised with my fancies. By the way, I should jike to see him if lie is at homo.’ ‘He is at home, Come along and * Sport ’ and I will show yon the way.’ (To be continued.)