ather dismally, I am
afraid, about death and destruction. You won't want to walk with me
again."

"Oh, yes, I shall. And I want to see your pictures."

"You may not care for them. Lots of people don't. But I have to work in
my own way----"

As they walked back, he told her what he was trying to do. As she
listened, Becky seemed to have two minds, one that caught his words, and
answered them, and another which went back and back to the things which
had happened since she had last walked this bluff with the wind in her
face and the sound of the sea in her ears.

It seemed to her as if a lifetime had elapsed since last she had looked
at the Sankaty light.

II

When Becky wrote to Randy, she had a great deal to say about Archibald
Cope.

"He is trying to paint the moor. He wants to get its meaning, and
then make other people see what it means. He doesn't look in the
least like that, Randy--as if he were finding the spirit of things.
He has red hair and wears correct clothes, and says the right
things, and you feel as if he ought to be in Wall Street buying
bonds. But here he is, refusing to believe that anything he has
done is worth while until he does it to his own satisfaction.

"We walked to Tom Never's Head yesterday. It was one of those clear
silver days, a little cloudy and without much color. The
cranberries are ripe, and the moor was carpeted with them. When we
got to Tom Never's we sat on the edge of the bluff, and Mr. Cope
told me what he meant about the moor. It has its moods, he said. On
a quiet, cloudy morning, it is a Quaker lady. With the fog in, it
is a White Spirit. There are purple twilights when it
is--Cleopatra, and windy nights with the sun going down blood-red,
when it is--Medusa---- He says that the trouble with the average
picture is that it is just--paint. I am not sure that I understand
it all, but it is terribly interesting. And when he had talked a
lot about that, he talked of the history of the island. He said
that he should never be satisfied until somebody put a bronze
statue of an Indian right where we stood, with his back to the sea.
And when I said, 'Why with his back to it?' he said, 'Wasn't the
sea cruel to the red man? It brought a conquering race in ships.'

"I told him then about our Indians in Virginia, and that some of us
had a bit of red blood in