man nor a woman," said he, "and then I will agree
to paint a tree that shall be no tree; and, if no man will buy it,
perhaps the father of lies will take it off my hands, and hang it in the
only place it would not disgrace."

In short, he never left off till he had crushed the non-buyers with
eloquence and satire; but he could not crush them into buyers--they beat
him at the passive retort.

Poor Gatty, when the momentary excitement of argument had subsided,
drank the bitter cup all must drink awhile, whose bark is alive and
strong enough to stem the current down which the dead, weak things of
the world are drifting, many of them into safe harbors.

And now he brought out his picture with a heavy heart.

"Now," said he to himself, "this gentleman will talk me dead, and leave
me no richer in coin, and poorer in time and patience."

The picture was placed in a light, the visitor sat down before it.

A long pause ensued.

"Has he fainted?" thought Gatty, ironically; "he doesn't gabble."

"If you do not mind painting before me," said the visitor, "I should be
glad if you would continue while I look into this picture."

Gatty painted.

The visitor held his tongue.

At first the silence made the artist uneasy, but by degrees it began to
give him pleasure; whoever this was, it was not one of the flies that
had hitherto stung him, nor the jackdaws that had chattered him dead.

Glorious silence! he began to paint under its influence like one
inspired.

Half an hour passed thus.

"What is the price of this work of art?"

"Eighty pounds."

"I take it," said his visitor, quietly.

What, no more difficulty than that? He felt almost disappointed at
gaining his object so easily.

"I am obliged to you, sir; much obliged to you," he added, for he
reflected what eighty pounds were to him just then.

"It is my descendants who are obliged to you," replied the gentleman;
"the picture is immortal!"

These words were an epoch in the painter's life.

The grave, silent inspection that had preceded them, the cool,
deliberate, masterly tone in which they were said, made them oracular to
him.

Words of such import took him by surprise.

He had thirsted for average praise in vain.

A hand had taken him, and placed him at the top of the tree.

He retired abruptly, or he would have burst into tears.

He ran to his mother.

"Mother," said he, "I am a painter; I always thought so at bottom, but
I suppose it is the he