u shall judge for yourself if we have not at
last succeeded."

Taking the lead, he conducted Edwin through a large gate across the
spacious timber-yard. A narrow lane led between the huge piles of
odorous pine and beech wood, directly to the "hut," whose side view was
no more aristocratic than the front.

"These six windows belong to me," said the artist with modest pride.
Then he opened the low door and invited Edwin to enter.

The interior of the old barrack, apart from a certain gloom and
dampness, really did look more comfortable than one would have thought
possible from its exterior. An entry, painted in some light color, was
hung with etchings in plain wooden frames. A door, opposite, appeared
to open upon the canal.

"Turn to the right, if you please," said the artist, "the apartments on
the left are our sitting-room, my daughter's little room, a kitchen,
and a bed-chamber. Everything on the right belongs to art--according to
my modest style, for I sleep in my studio, and even in my dreams I
remain only the zaun-koenig, and never fancy myself a Canaletto because
I live beside a lagune."

As he concluded he opened the door of his studio.

Certainly the low room no longer showed any trace of having previously
sheltered drunken sailors, but to have painted Claude Lorraine
atmospheres there on gloomy days would have been a difficult matter.
Two windows opened upon the canal and the dark chimney of the next
house interposed itself between them and every ray of sunlight. At one
of these windows stood a low table, covered with the various tools of a
wood-engraver; at the other, a desk-like stand, before which sat a
young girl, absorbed in her work. Just in front of her a bouquet of
fresh flowers stood in a little vase, and she was evidently employed in
copying into the wreath which she was painting on a porcelain plate,
leaves and flowers from nature. On the walls hung all sorts of
sketches, interspersed with finished pictures which, even at a
distance, could not fail to be recognized as "genuine zaun-koenigs,"
while on an easel not far from the first window, stood a new
half-finished landscape, over which the artist instantly spread a
cloth.

"You must not see me too much in neglige," he said blushing. "I usually
begin very awkwardly, and make a great many strokes on my little piece
of canvas, before any clear outlines appear. But here is my daughter,
Leah. She bears her mother's name. What are you going to sa