Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/403

 390 “I am sure you draw,” she said.

“I have had very good masters, and I am very fond of it,” replied Frank; “but I have had no time since I have been in Devonshire.”

For he had kept the resolution he made when he first saw the advertisement, and had been working hard at mathematics during the few hours his school duties left him.

As Frank had conducted Miss Martin to a spot at some distance from the rest of the party, of course it became absolutely necessary that he should remain there to take care of her; so he fetched her some water in a shell, arranged her colours, and even mixed her an invaluable grey for the middle distance, with which she was unacquainted, and devoted himself to fulfilling all the petits soins a lady artist can require from an accomplished cavalier.

Miss Clara Martin found she had made a great mistake. When she had seen Frank before, she had been led, by the silence which he always maintained in Mrs. Martin’s presence, into the belief that he was very shy. Accordingly, with feminine good nature, she had determined this afternoon to draw him out, which she found very easy; also to patronise him, which she discovered to be extremely difficult. The first two or three sentences which Frank spoke shook her resolution a little; but she was a young lady who was tolerably decided in her views, and after a short interval she resumed her rôle:

“I wish you would give me your opinion upon how I am getting on. I am sure you must be a good judge.”

These words were spoken in a tone which at once conveyed the impression that she thought she was paying him a compliment by making the inquiry.

If these events had happened five years later, Frank would probably have said to himself, “That’s your little game, ma’am, is it?” As civilisation was not sufficiently advanced to enable him to put his thoughts thus into language, he concealed them, and replied:

“Do you wish for a candid criticism?”

“Of course I do,” replied the young lady, rather indignantly.

“Well, then, the trees appear to me to have rather a blue shade, whilst the green seems to have communicated itself unfairly to the water.”

Clara was of an impetuous disposition, and as she heard this, and her eye convinced her there was the faintest possible ground for the criticism, her brush (filled with brown madder at the moment) went from the left-hand corner of the drawing to the top in a graceful curve.

“I am sorry you did that,” said Frank, “for I was only in fun; but now you have spoilt it. I will tell you what was really a fault: the church tower would have looked too new, and the moss is made too apparent for a view taken from this distance, and is green instead of grey.”

“I will tell you what, Mr. Ainslie, I am quite determined upon, and that is, that you shall do me another drawing for the one you have made me spoil—directly, too—so sit down.”

“You won’t like it as well as your own, if I do.”

“I am not sure of that,” said she, laughing, for she began to feel there was some justice in the way she had been treated. “Now begin.”

And Frank took the brush and commenced a sketch, not of the elaborate character Clara had attempted, but rough in the extreme. At first she smiled, for there appeared a probability that the paper would soon be covered with a series of smudges; but by degrees a wild beauty sprang out from the chaos, and she saw the scene, not steeped in sunshine, as she looked upon it now, but wrapped in storm, the calm sea lashed to fury, the gentle river a rushing torrent, the old church alone unaltered.

“I saw it like that once,” said Frank, “and I shall never forget it.”

“Nor shall I,” replied Clara; “thank you very much for the picture, and my lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“Oh, my drawing lesson, of course,” replied Clara, with an emphasis which belied her words.

And now it occurred to them that it was full time they returned to the other side of the stream.

They found the party assembled, and enjoying a game of prisoner’s base, with the exception of the anemone seekers, who were still absent, as they strolled a little away along the shore to meet them, still speaking of Millais and Tennyson as they went.

Oh Poetry and Art, how much is owed to you even by the humble worshippers at your outer gate! How often does it fall to your lot to strike the key note which shall vibrate through two hearts, to be joined hereafter in harmony for ever.

Mr. Martin and his two companions returned at last; Ringwood had slipped from a rock and sprained his ancle, it was this which had detained them so long, for he had become very lame. Clara immediately offered him her seat in the pony chaise, saying that she could walk very well. As she declined undertaking to drive the pony, which was rather spirited, her brother agreed to the arrangement.

And a beautiful walk home they had: even the ordinary houses of Slopcombe looked pretty, when they reached the top of the hill, and saw them bathed in the light of the setting sun. Here Clara just became sufficiently tired, to be glad to avail herself of the support of Frank’s arm.

Before they reached the old school-house their friendship was cemented, and placed on a firm footing. Be assured, my youthful readers, that a long day in the country will do more in this way, than seven evening parties, at the most moderate computation.

Clara gave a little laugh to herself, while she was taking off her bonnet, as she thought of the shy second master. Curiously enough she quite forgot to show the sketch she had admired so much to Mrs. Martin, or even to her brother, though she locked it up carefully in her little rosewood desk, and looked at it very often herself.

the next week Clara and Frank saw a great deal of each other. Mrs. Martin seldom came down to breakfast, and Clara took her place. Mr. Martin took his in his study; and the