“Ask for the best place in the studio,” said Gonzalo, who, from being the last pupil, had the worst light for his easel.
“Come, take courage,” said Murillo gaily.
“The master is so kind to-day,” said Ferdinand, “that I would risk something. Ask your freedom, Sebastian.”
At these words Sebastian uttered a cry of anguish, and raising his eyes to his master, he exclaimed, in a voice choked with sobs, “The freedom of my father! the freedom of my father!”
“And thine, also,” said Murillo, who, no longer able to conceal his emotion, threw his arms around Sebastian, and pressed him to his breast.
“Your pencil,” he continued, “shows that you have talent; your request proves that you have a heart; the artist is complete. From this day, consider yourself not only as my pupil, but my son. Happy Murillo! I have done more than paint—I have made a painter!”
Murillo kept his word, and Sebastian Gomez, known better under the name of the mulatto of Murillo, became one of the most celebrated painters in Spain. There may yet be seen in the churches of Seville the celebrated picture which he had been found painting by his master; also a St. Anne, admirably done; a holy Joseph, which is extremely beautiful; and others of the highest merit.
At a crowded lecture the other evening, a young lady standing at the door of the church was addressed by an honest Hibernian, who was in attendance on the occasion, with, “Indade, Miss, I should be glad to give you a sate, but the empty ones are all full.”