“Zebina Pratt.”
“A brilliant offer, isn’t it?” said the young artist. “I am invited to give up all my high aspirations,—all my dreams of artistic eminence,—and take my place behind the counter of a country-store, to weigh out tea and sugar for Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Jones, and chaffer with Mrs. Thompson about the extra half cent on a yard of calico. And all for thirty-five dollars a month!”
“The offer seems kindly meant,” said Helen.
“Yes, there is no doubt of that. Uncle Zebina is a worthy and kind-hearted man. I have no doubt he thinks he is consulting my best interests in making me such a proposal. And doubtless he is, so far as his views of life are concerned. I should be pretty sure to be admitted into partnership after a while, and eventually to succeed my uncle in business. I dare say I should become a thrifty trader, be elected selectman, assessor, town clerk, and perhaps in time be elected to a seat in the legislature. That is not so bad, is it? And what has art to offer me that will outweigh all these advantages? It will gratify my æsthetic tastes; it will give me that which my soul craves; it will open to me a world of beauty in which I can revel; but, alas! it will not give me bread. Helen, it is bread and butter that must decide this question. I believe I must send my uncle an affirmative answer. I must bid farewell to art, and sell soap and sugar. What do you advise?”
There was a bitterness in the young man’s tone that pained Helen. Accustomed to think for her father, she began to think for him. What would be best? It was not a question to be hastily decided. Bread and butter, humble and prosaic as it is, is not to be slighted. Yet she was convinced that Herbert would be very unhappy if transferred to his uncle’s store.
“I don’t know what to say, Herbert,” said Helen, at length. “I want to think it over. When do you propose to write to your uncle?”
“I can wait till day after to-morrow.”
“Then I will think it over till then. Perhaps, between us, we can think of something that will keep you in the city. I don’t know what I should do without you. Next to my father, I should miss you.”
“And one of my chief regrets in leaving the city would be that I must leave behind my little sister,” said the young artist, affectionately.
“Thank you, Herbert; goodnight!”