I subscribed most heartily to this rosewater philosophy. Certainly, if Jessie had had her way, there would have been no heartaches in the world; no poverty, no sickness, no rags, no rainy days. The sun would have been eternally shining where she moved, and everything around her would have been eternally bright. The world would have been a garden, and she the prettiest flower in it.
In the mean time I was making rapid progress in my business. My great ambition was to become a good draughtsman; and I had learnt all that could be learnt in the school of art, which I had attended regularly for some time.
'Now sketch from nature,' the master said; 'I can do nothing more for you. You have a talent for caricature, but before that can be properly developed, you must learn figure drawing from the life.'
These words fired me, and I commenced my studies in this direction with my mother, who was always ready to stand in any uncomfortable position for any length of time, while I laboured to reproduce her. Perhaps I would come suddenly into the room while she was stooping over the fire, or standing on tiptoe to reach something from the top shelf of the cupboard. 'Stand still, mother,' I would cry; 'don't move!' And the dear mother would stand as immovable as a statue until I released her; and then, dropping her arms, or rising from her stooping posture, with a sigh of relief which she could not suppress, she would fall into ecstasies with my work, whether it were good or bad. Uncle Bryan was a capital study for me, and would smile cynically when I produced any especially ill-favoured sketch of his face or figure. It was but natural that I should make the most careful studies of Jessie; and she, not at all unwilling, posed for me half a dozen times a week, until my desk was filled with sketches of her in scores of graceful attitudes and positions. Her face was my principal study; and I sketched it with so many different expressions upon it, that before long I knew it by heart, and could see it with my eyes shut--smiling, or pouting, or looking demurely at me. Jessie inspected every scrap of my work, and very promptly tore into pieces anything that did not please her, saying she did not want any ugly likenesses of herself lying about. I made studies of her eyes, her lips, her ears, her hands; and we passed a great deal of time together in this way, to our mutual satisfaction. We were allowed full liberty; but I sometimes detected uncle Bryan observing us with a curiously pondering expression on his face. This did not trouble me however.
[CHAPTER XVI.]
THE STONE MONKEY FIGURE GIVES UP ITS TREASURES.
I had been for some time employed on a large drawing of Jessie, in crayons. It was my first ambitious attempt in colours; and it arose from Jessie's complaint that I could not paint her as she was.
'I am all black and white,' she said; 'I am tired of seeing myself so. Now if you could show me my eyes as they are---- What colour are they, Chris?'
Thereupon it was necessary that a close investigation should be made, which was not too rapidly concluded: these matters take a long time to determine, especially when one is an enthusiast in his art, as I was. The next day I bought crayons, and practised secretly; and secretly also commenced the sketch of Jessie above mentioned. I was never tired of contemplating my work, which promised to be a success; and one Sunday, when it was nearly completed, I went to my room to examine it. I kept it carefully concealed in my box, and, after a long examination, I was about to replace it, when I was startled by Jessie's voice, asking me what I was hiding. She had entered the room softly and slyly, on purpose to surprise me, she told me.
'I am certain,' she said, 'that you are doing something secretly. For the last three or four weeks you have shut yourself in here night after night, for hours together. Now I want to know all about it.'