"That is from Guido," he said, looking admiringly at a sweet picture, which had always been a favourite of Mr. Morton's, "and it is worth a hundred dollars."
"Shall I put it down at that?" asked the appraiser, who had little experience in valuing pictures.
"Yes; put it down at one hundred. It will bring that under the hammer, any day," replied the connoisseur. "Ah, what have we here? A copy from Murillo's 'Good Shepherd.' Isn't that a lovely picture? Worth a hundred and fifty, every cent. And here is 'Our Saviour,' from Da Vinci's celebrated picture of the Last Supper; and a 'Magdalen' from Correggio. You are a judge of pictures, I see, Mr. Morton! But what is this?" he said, eyeing closely a large engraving, richly framed.
"A proof, as I live! from the only plate worth looking at of Raphael's Madonna of St. Sixtus. I'll give fifty dollars for that, myself."
The pictures named were all entered up by the appraiser, and then the group continued their examination.
"Here is a Sully," remarked the trustee above alluded to, pausing before Willie's portrait.
"But that is a portrait," Mr. Morton said, advancing, while his heart leaped with a new and sudden fear.
"If it is, Mr. Morton, it is a valuable picture, worth every cent of two hundred dollars. We cannot pass that, Sir."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Morton, "take my Willie's portrait? O no, you cannot do that!"
"It is no doubt a hard case, Mr. Morton," said one of the trustees. "But we must do our duty, however painful. That picture is a most beautiful one, and by a favourite artist, and will bring at least two hundred dollars. It is not a necessary article of household furniture, and is not covered by the law. We should be censured, and justly too, if we were to pass it."