“Of course,” Jo agreed. “Everything grows in a line or a clump.”
“That is just what I mean,” Mr. Seymour replied. “After you decide that the space before you is filled with trees you next decide what the line or pattern of the background of your picture is to be. After you decide this, you can plan how to transfer the trees which fill the big space into the much smaller space that is your canvas. You do it by following the pattern which you see before you.”
“But you can’t get all that swamp on a little canvas,” Jo protested.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Seymour. “And that’s why I am leaving out so much. By following the pattern of the pine trees for my background and the twisting shore of the pond for my foreground, I can shrink the whole swamp to the size of my canvas even though I leave out a great deal that your eye sees growing there in the living wood. Now, while you are looking and comparing so closely, watching picture and swamp at the same time, the swamp, in contrast, seems magnificent. But next winter when you see only the picture you will forget about these details that mean so much to you now, and you will think the picture looks quite like the swamp as you remember it.”
“Gee!” Jo said sadly. “You’ve forgotten that I won’t be seeing the picture next winter.” He scraped the toe of his boot disconsolately against the loose pebbles. “You aren’t thinking of going home too soon?”
“Not for ages!” exclaimed Ann. “And I’ll write to you every week after we get back,” she promised.
“We’ll sign our names to the same letter,” said Ben.
“You won’t!” Ann assured him, in her most decided manner. “If I write a letter I am going to be the only one to sign it. He will have to write his own letters, won’t he, father?”
“It looks as if he would have to.” Mr. Seymour laughed. “I know that Jo would like to get more than one a week through the winter. How about it, Jo?”
“You bet I would,” answered Jo, his eyes shining.