I looked at him with a provoked sort of admiration,
surprised that one who knew so well how nature should be imitated, did
not, himself, attempt the task, and angry both with him and myself that I
was being subjected to such humiliation, while I listened to him as he
convinced me the picture I thought so good was a mere daub. I was wise
enough, and proud enough too, not to make any sign that I was undergoing
torture, and with stoical calmness permitted him, without a single
remonstrance, to examine every picture there, even the one containing
Thomas in his Sunday suit, as he stood surveying with idealized face,
a superb patch of cabbages.
"Fancy has run riot with you there entirely; if the gardener were
surveying his sweetheart in the church choir he might have some such
seraphic expression, but it is utterly thrown away on those vegetables;
his face and his broadcloth coat are in perfect harmony," Mr. Winthrop
said, with even voice, as he held aloft the picture that all the other
members of his household had so greatly admired.
"You think, then, the time spent in these has been quite wasted?" I tried
to say calmly.
"A genuine artist, no doubt, would say without a moment's hesitation that
the paint was thrown away. As for the time, he would probably say a young
girl's time was of little consequence in any case. I am not an artist,
and do not value paint at a high figure; so I most decidedly affirm that
you made an excellent use of the paint. Labor conscientiously spent in
decorating a barn door is well employed.
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