Estelle promptly and decisively turned her back upon me. She had evidently determined that she would not talk with any of us about Dave.
“I wish it were not so cold here; there is no other place in the house where I can get a good light in the late afternoons, the only time I have,” she said. I heard Cyrus come out of his den and I called to him. She made a little startled objection, but thought better of it and even drew the shade higher to throw a better light on the picture for Cyrus’ near-sighted eyes.
“Why, it is really pretty, very pretty!” said Cyrus, indulgently. “I like to see you girls have lady-like recreations.” He glanced a little ruefully at my roughened hands. “The cheese and the preserves are not exactly recreations, Bathsheba, but they are womanly work. One of these days I hope the old, prosperous times will come back to the shipyard, and then you shall none of you do anything but make pictures—or ‘sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam.’”
Cyrus was in an amiable, light-minded mood as I had not seen him before since Dave’s return.
“But I am going to make pictures to earn money,” said Estelle, with a tilt of her yellow head.
Cyrus smiled carelessly, cast a backward glance at the picture as he turned away and said lightly:
“I’m afraid you’ll find the road to fame a long one, little sister. And they say that in art money only comes with fame.”
“He needn’t call me little sister when he—he’s so hard on Dave!” cried Estelle, angrily. “Letting him work in the shipyard, like a common laborer, and—and thinking my work is play!”
Cyrus’ returning step was heard upon the stairs.
“Estelle, I’ve been thinking that one of the carpenters at the yard might put up a partition—make a room for you there. It could take in the chimney so that you could have a stove. I should think there was a fine light there for a studio.”