“I am sure your ‘Country Farm-house’ is a beautiful painting,” said Helen, enthusiastically. “There must be a great many that would like to buy it.”
Herbert smiled bitterly.
“I tried to sell it, yesterday, to a dealer. He received me coldly, and after inquiring what else I had painted declined to buy it on any terms. Another offered me ten dollars, a little more than the cost of the frame. I had the curiosity to inquire the price of another painting which he had for sale, which I should certainly not admit to be superior to my own, and was told that it was one hundred and fifty dollars. One hundred and fifty dollars! if I could only realize that sum for mine, it would enable me to work six months longer. But wishes are cheap. Yesterday I decided to give up all my dreams of art, and go back to my country home.”
“O Herbert, what a pity!”
“Just as I had come to this conclusion I received a letter from an uncle of mine in my native town, which confirmed my resolution. He keeps a country store, partly grocery, partly dry goods, and wants an assistant. He writes that, so far as he can learn, I don’t find painting very profitable,—but hold, I will read you the letter.”
Pausing before a shop window, Herbert took from his pocket a letter inclosed in a coarse yellow envelope, and read it as follows:—
“Dear Nephew,—
“I am in good health, and hope you are enjoying the same blessing. Your folks are pretty smart. Your father sold his yearling calf last week, and got a pretty good price for it. I expect you are not making much money by your painting. I always thought it a foolish piece of business letting you go into such an uncertain trade, and so I told brother, but he wouldn’t listen to me, though I expect now he is beginning to think about as I do. If it had been house painting now, there’d have been some sense in that. There’s Josiah Watson is making his two dollars and a half a day straight along, and I don’t believe you’re making a quarter of that. (’He’s right there,’ interpolated Herbert.) Now I’m going to make you an offer, and if you’re wise you’ll accept it. I’m getting old, and I find my business increasing. I need help in the store, and I’d rather give the situation to one that’s kin to me than to a stranger, especially as I can trust you, and may be I might get deceived in another. I’m willing to pay thirty-five dollars a month, and more when you’ve got a little used to things, so you can move round handy. I shall want you to begin work the first of next month. That’ll give you a fortnight to settle up your painting business in the city.
“Now, nephew Herbert, I’ve made you a fair offer, and you’ll do well to accept it. Your father thinks as I do about it; and the folks, I know, will like to have you at home again. I don’t want to make no promises, but bimeby I may find myself obliged to take a partner, and of course, if you give satisfaction, as I’ve no doubt you will, I sha’n’t be very apt to go out of the family. I shall want to hear from you as soon as you have made up your mind. Your aunt Desire sends her love, and hopes you will come. She would like to have you bring her a new pair of spectacles from the city. Her old pair got broken the other day (your cousin Mary stepped on them), and she’s pestered about seeing.
“Your uncle,