et him. They had not been
so very well acquainted, but the warmth of a greeting all depends upon
where it takes place. It was lonely for the beautiful girl there in the
country: she welcomed the handsome young painter-man as though he were a
long-lost brother, and proudly introduced him to her parents.

Instead of a mere call he was urged to put up his horse and remain
overnight; and a servant was sent out to find the man who drove the cart
with the painter's belongings, and make him comfortable.

The painter decided that he would remain overnight and make an early
start on the morrow.

And it was so agreed.

There was music in the evening, and pleasant converse until a late hour,
for the guest must sit up and see the moon rise across the meadow--it
would make such a charming subject for a picture!

So they sat up to see the moon rise across the meadow.

At breakfast the next morning there was a little banter on the subject of
painting. Could not the distinguished painter remain over one day and
give his hosts a taste of his quality?

"I surely will if the fair Anna will sit for her portrait!" he
courteously replied.

The fair Anna consented.

The servant who drove the cart had gotten on good terms with the servants
of the household, and was being initiated into the mysteries of making
Dutch cheese.

Meanwhile the master had improvised a studio and was painting the
portrait of the charming Anna.

After working two whole days he destroyed the canvas because the picture
was not keyed right, and started afresh. The picture was fairish good,
but his desire now was to paint the beautiful Anna as the Madonna.

Van Dyck's affections having been ruthlessly uprooted but a few days
before, the tendrils very naturally clung to the first object that
presented itself--and this of course was the intelligent and patient
sitter, aged nineteen last June.

If Rubens could not paint the picture of a lady without falling in love
with her, what should be expected of his best pupil, Van Dyck?

Pygmalion loved into life the cold marble which his hand had shaped, and
thus did Van Dyck love his pictures into being. All portrait-painters are
sociable--they have to be in order to get acquainted with the subject.
The best portrait-painter in America talks like a windmill as he works,
and tries a whole set round of little jokes, and dry asides and trite
aphorisms on the sitter, meanwhile cautiously noting the effect. For of
course