Constance, as before.—"Why, no!"
Bartlett.—"What was your idea?"
Constance.—"I don't know. I thought—I thought I would have the mountain in the back-ground, with some clouds over it, and a few figures in the foreground, to give it a human interest."
Bartlett.—"Yes, that's a good notion. Well, now begin. First get your distance— No; better strike in a horizon line first. That will keep you right. Draw the line straight across the middle of the canvas." Constance retires a few steps from the canvas, measures its spaces with her eye, and then with a glance at the horizon outside draws. Bartlett, looking over her shoulder: "Straight, straight! The line should be straight. Don't you see?"
Constance, falteringly.—"I meant that for a straight line."
Bartlett.—"Oh! well! Yes! I see. However, now you've got it in, hadn't you better use it for a curved line? Say for that wavering outline of the hills beyond Ponkwasset?"
Constance.—"Why, if you think so, Mr. Bartlett."
Bartlett.—"And I'll just strike in the horizon line here." He draws rapidly, steps back a pace, approaches, and touches Constance's line at different points. Then he gives her the chalk again. "Now, scratch in the outline of Ponkwasset." Constance begins to draw. "Ah! Wait a moment, please. You're not quite getting it. Will you let me?" Constance offers him the charcoal, which he declines with a gesture, "No, no! You must do it. I meant"—
Constance.—"What?"