so many years ago, for that
was in a different season. Instead of frozen game and winter
vegetables, were the products of summer gardens, and fruits, and
berries. The color scheme was dazzling with great heaps of tomatoes,
and long, emerald ears of corn, and baskets of apples, and gold
crooks of summer squashes, and speckled pods of beans.

"Suppose," said Robert, as they walked on, "that all the market-men
who had artistic tastes had art educations and set up studios and
painted pictures, who would keep the markets?"

He spoke gayly. His manner that night was younger and merrier than
Ellen had ever seen it. She was naturally rather grave herself. What
she had seen of life had rather disposed her to a hush of respect
than to hilarity, but somehow his mood began to infect her.

"I don't know," she answered, laughing, "I suppose somebody would
keep the markets."

"Yes, but they would not be as good markets. That is, they would not
do as artistic markets, and they would not serve the higher purpose
of catering to the artistic taste of man, as well as to his bodily
needs."

"Perhaps a picture like that is just as well and better than it
would be painted and hung on a wall," Ellen admitted, reflectively.

"Just so--why is it not?" Robert said, in a pleased voice.

"Yes, I think it is," said Ellen. "I do think it is better, because
everybody can see it there. Ever so many people will see it there
who would not go to picture-galleries to see it, and then--"

"And then it may go far to dignify their daily needs," said Robert.
"For instance, a poor man about to buy his to-morrow's dinner may
feel his soul take a little fly above the prices of turnips and
cabbages."

"Maybe," said Ellen, but doubtfully.

"Don't you think so?"

"The prices of turnips and cabbages may crowd other things out,"
Ellen replied, and her tone was sad, almost tragic. "You see I am
right in it, Mr. Lloyd," she said, earnestly.

"You mean right in the midst of the kind of people whom necessity
forces to neglect the aesthetic for the purely useful?"

"Yes," said Ellen. Then she added, in an indescribably pathetic
voice, "People have to live first before they can see, and they
can't think until they are fed, and one needs always to have had
enough turnips and cabbages to eat without troubling about the
getting them, in order to see in them anything except food."

Lloyd looked at her curiously. "Decidedly this child can think," he
reflected