ion, that
Teevan had thought to prevail over by his stings of waspish contempt.
She smiled pityingly for Teevan, until she recalled that she also had
misread its lines. There were moments when her beaten spirit fluttered
up at thought of Teevan's being blasted by what he had thought to blast.
But a look at the mother's restraining face, or, still more, a look at
Ewing as he would glance from his work up to the portrait, stilled this
craving for battle. It was well, she thought, as it had fallen.

Ewing had set to work doubtingly at first, but with laughing energy when
he found that the lines came again at his call. He felt, indeed, that
his facility had been increased, and he confided this to Mrs. Laithe one
day as she lay watching him.

"I don't have to 'squeeze' the way I did," he said. "Perhaps I really
learned something there in spite of myself, in all that messing with
colors. I didn't learn to paint, but I seem to have a new line on
bucking bronchos and bucked cowboys." He stopped in sudden thought.

"There, I've forgotten that old painting of mine. I'll treat us both to
a look at it."

He went off to Ben's room beyond the kitchen and came back with the
dusty canvas. He wiped it with a cloth and placed it on the easel.

She did not look at this. She knew it too well. Her look was for his
face as he studied it. She saw surprise there, bewilderment,
incredulity, and then, slowly dawning, a consternation of dropped jaw
and squinting scowl. Yet this broke at length, and, to her great relief,
he laughed, heartily, honestly. She smiled, not at the poor painting,
but in sympathy with him. Then he remembered that she had looked at this
same canvas once before, and that neither of them had laughed. His face
sobered, and he went over to her.

"You had nerve, didn't you--after seeing that thing?"

"You remember I didn't praise it."

"But you saw I didn't know any better, and you never let me see that
_you_ did. You must have thought highly of me, I can see that." He
stooped and laid one of his hands on hers with a friendly, thanking
pressure.

"I saw plainly enough what you could do," she protested.

He went to stand again before the despised canvas, playing upon it with
humorous disparagement.

"But if you see now," she said, "that it's so--if it seems so----"

"Say the word--do!"

"If it seems bad to you now, that's a good sign. It means that you've
learned something about color. Suppose it had still seemed