“That's only one of many,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I wanted something to occupy my mind after I gave up music, and I began these studies merely as an experiment. I worked for a year while Lionel was a baby just to—you know, Wynn—just to forget!” He was silent, being unable to formulate any reply that was appropriate to the delicate situation, and she went on simply, and still in the winsome tone which had always appealed to him so strongly.
“Then—now comes the best part—one day I happened to read the advertisement of an Atlanta dealer who was in need of such things, and I forwarded some sketches I had done. They were bad—oh, so bad—and he wrote that he would not offer them to his customers, but he encouraged me to keep on. Then I worked harder, and finally I sent him some pictures of children—little pickaninnies, brown as chestnuts, little white ragamuffins, babies in old-fashioned, crude, box-cradles like the mountain people have, and he sold them. Think of that! He actually sold them! I have not signed any of them. He has written me several times begging that I should do so, but I have always refused. He has agreed not to use my name at all, and I believe he has kept his word. The whole thing has made me—almost happy. Wynn, I saw your face after your first successful operation, and didn't understand then what it meant to you, but I do now. The day that dealer's letter came, and his money followed by express, in a big wax-sealed envelope—well, it was the happiest moment of my life-I sang; I talked to myself; I danced. I told Baby all about it as I hugged him in my arms. I had, as they say, discovered myself. Here I was, cut off from intercourse with everybody in my home town, but God hadn't wholly forsaken me. He had given me something to make up for what I'd lost—a way of speaking to the big outer world.”
“I see, and I congratulate you with all my heart,” Dearing said, as he stood watching the shifting tones in her expressive face. “I understand you better now. I got in the habit of listening for your piano at night, when everything was still, and I fancied I could read your various moods. A long time ago you played too sadly; really it used to get next to me, and make me worry about you; but of late there has been more hope and cheerfulness in your music, and it did me a lot of good. I understand you better now. I have always thought that creative work was the most satisfying and uplifting occupation possible, and now I am sure of it.”
“And I am getting better and better prices, too,” Dora said, modestly. “My agent sends my things everywhere, even to far-off New York and Boston. I don't do them so fast now, for I try harder and I think they are better. Now, you will send me your bill, won't you?”
“I shall certainly be hoping that somebody will get really sick under this roof,” he laughed, evasively, “for I'd like to get a whack at your roll of cash, but so far my dealings have been only with your mother, and she doesn't make it interesting. She was good to me when I was a boy. I used to crawl over the back fence when she was making jelly and jam in the kitchen, and I collected some fees then that did me more good than any I have since received. She performed the first surgical operation on me, too, that I ever had. I was barefoot, and while trying to hide from some other boys I stuck a rusty nail through my big toe. She heard me yelling and came to my assistance. She extracted the nail, washed out my wound, filled it with turpentine—the only household antiseptic used in that day—and bound it up for me. I have always believed that she saved me from lockjaw.”
“The opportunity to earn money means more to me than you might think, Wynn,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Do you know what my dream of dreams is? It is to be able to go to Paris, and take Lionel and my mother. She has always wanted to go, because papa was buried there. Do you know, I feel that away off in a free, art-loving country like France I could rear my child to manhood without his ever knowing about his—his history. It seems to me that God has given me this talent for that particular purpose. The only trouble is the delay. You see, it may be years before I can save enough, and then it might be too late.”
“I see, I understand,” Dearing said, gravely; “and you'd never come back to old Stafford again, I suppose?”
“Oh no,” she answered; “all this would have to be laid aside forever.”
“I shouldn't like to see you go,” he said. “I have—you see, I have become attached to Lionel—he and I are great chums. But if you have decided, and wish it so very much, why not? Look here, Dora, I have money lying idle in the bank. I have absolutely no need for it, and—”
“Oh no!” she cried. “It is lovely of you to offer it, but I couldn't think of taking it. I couldn't—I really-couldn't!”