Page:Keeping the Peace.pdf/203

 the end of two years I have not had a picture accepted at the Salon I have promised to return to the farm."

"My boy," said St. André, "you will have a picture accepted—if I have to paint it myself."

Then they all laughed, and St. André asked Edward if his wish to be an artist had met with parental encouragement.

Edward simply shook his head. He did not yet feel equal to an elaborate statement in the French language. But he wondered what Dear Mother would have said and done if she had marched suddenly into the studio and discovered him indefatigably painting nudes.

There was a fat painter—one of the open-air crowd—named Edmond Beaulieu who in the guise of a friendly critic often dropped in to see how the big murals of St. André were getting on. He had words of praise for everyone—for the models, for the assistants and for St. André himself. He preached a jovial gospel of enthusiasm and encouragement. And sometimes he even spoke of his own landscapes in an enthusiastic and encouraging way.

Edward became curious to see some of Beaulieu's work, of which on all hands he heard nothing but the highest praise. And one day he expressed