"'So be it, madam, so be it,' I said. 'I have yourself and daughter to thank for my life, but it was not to show my gratitude I made the proposal, but because I am wise enough to discover sterling worth and goodness even beneath a humble garb. Good-bye. I'll never think of marriage more.'
"I shook the mother's hand warmly. I but touched the girl's. To have looked even once in her sweet tearful face would have unmanned me, so I all but fled.
"I left the village long before daylight. I went home. Then I told my mother all.
"My muse was now my only comfort, for months went by before I thought again of painting.
"Then the same old idea recurred to me that had so nearly cost me my life on the mountain side.
"The book, The Easel and the Harp. The Thistle and the Rose!
"I commenced work in earnest now. But, alas! misfortune befell me. My soldier father died. He died in debt, and one short year afterwards I laid my darling mother in the church-yard beside him.
"I was alone in the world now—alone and with only a few thousands of pounds betwixt me and want, should I fail with my brush.
"I was awakened at last to the reality of life, and tried hard to do my best to face its storms.
"My great book! I laid my plans before publisher after publisher. Some of these received me kindly, praised the idea, but did not see their way.