sold it for 100 florins. In order to return
with more speed, he took his place in the public coach. When the
passengers stopped to dine, Rembrandt, fearing to lose his treasure,
remained in the carriage. The careless stable-boy who brought the horses
their corn forgot to unharness them, and as soon as they had finished
eating, excited probably by Rembrandt, who cared not for his
fellow-passengers, the animals started off for Leyden, and quietly halted
at their accustomed inn. Our painter then got out and repaired with his
money to the mill.

Great was his father's joy. At length these silly daubs, which had so
often excited his angry contempt, seemed likely to be transmuted into
gold, and the old man's imagination took a rapturous flight. "Neither he
nor his old horse," he said, "need now work any longer; they might both
enjoy quiet during the remainder of their lives. Paul would paint
pictures, and support the whole household in affluence."

Such was the old man's castle in the air; his clever, selfish son soon
demolished it. "This sum of money," he said, "is only a lucky windfall. If
you indeed wish it to become the foundation of my fortune, give me one
hundred florins besides, and let me return to Amsterdam: there I must work
and study hard."

It would be difficult to describe old Rembrandt's disappointment. Slowly,
reluctantly, and one by one, he drew forth the 100 florins from his
strong-box. Paul took them, and with small show of gratitude, returned to
Amsterdam. In a short time his fame became established as the greatest and
most original of living artists. He had a host of imitators, but all
failed miserably in their attempts at reproducing his marvelous effects of
light and shade. Yet Rembrandt prized the gold which flowed in to him far
more than the glory. While mingling the colors which were to flash out on
his canvas in real living light, he thought but of his dingy coffers.

When in possession of a yearly income equal to L2000 sterling, he would
not permit the agent who collected his rents to bring them in from the
country to Amsterdam, lest he should be obliged to invite him to dinner.
He preferred setting out on a fine day, and going himself to the agent's
house. In this way he saved two dinners--the one which he got, and the one
he avoided giving. "So that's well managed!" he used to say.

This sordid disposition often exposed him to practical jokes from his
pupils; but he possessed a quiet temper, a