during the day helen, in ascending the stairs, encountered m’lle fanchette.

“so you have become quite a public character, miss ford,” said the modiste, superciliously.

helen looked up, but did not speak.

“i heard you sing at the theatre, last evening.”

“yes, madam.”

“nothing would have induced me to come forward so publicly at your age. however, i suppose you don’t mind it.”

“no,” said helen, with rising color; “i don’t mind it, since it enables me to earn money for my father.”

“isn’t your father well? it isn’t usual for children to be called upon to support their parents.”

“good morning, m’lle fanchette,” said helen, abruptly. the implied censure upon her father kindled her resentment as no insult to herself would have done.

m’lle fanchette looked after her with a sneer. “so my lady is putting on airs, is she? i don’t believe her father’s invention will ever come to anything. perhaps i had better take no further notice of her.”

just as helen reached the door of her father’s room, she saw the occupant of the opposite apartment standing at his door. he was a young man of middle height, with a face whose boyish bloom had hardly given place to the more mature expression of manhood.

101“good morning, miss ford,” he said, pleasantly.

“good morning, mr. coleman.”

“i was just about to ask a favor of you and your father.”

helen thought he might be intending to ask a loan of some little article, for it had come to her knowledge that he was boarding himself.

“i am sure we shall be happy to grant it,” she said, cheerfully.

“i suppose you know that i am an artist, or trying to be,” said the young man. “i have just finished a picture for exhibition at the academy. no one has seen it yet, and i, perhaps, am not a fair judge of its merits. i should be very glad if you and mr. ford would take a look at it, and favor me with your opinion of it.”

“i shall be delighted to see it, and so will papa, i know,” returned helen. “i will speak to him immediately.”

“papa,” she said, entering the room, “mr. coleman is kind enough to invite us to look at a picture he has painted.”

“i beg your pardon, my dear,” said mr. ford, looking up abstractedly. “did you speak?”

helen repeated the invitation.

“i shall be most happy,” said mr. ford, courteously. “let us go at once.”

the opposite room was fitted up as an artist’s studio,—plainly enough, for young coleman was, as yet, only a struggling aspirant, without a name and without orders.

on an easel was the picture of which he had spoken. the subject was, “a country farm-house at sunrise.” broad and low, suggestive less of beauty than of substantial comfort, it stood prominently out. the farmer in his shirt-sleeves was leaning carelessly against the fence, watching a group of cattle who were just emerging from the barn, followed by the farmer’s son, a stout boy of fourteen. there was a cart in the yard near the house, a plough, and a variety 102of accessories carefully selected to imitate nature as scrupulously as possible. the whole painting was exceedingly natural.

“it is beautiful,” said helen, with childish enthusiasm.

“thank you,” said the young man, smiling.

“it looks very familiar to me,” said mr. ford. “it seems to me as if i had seen the very farm-house you have represented.”

“thank you. i may dare to hope, then, that i have been reasonably true to nature.”

“in that respect i think you have succeeded wonderfully. you must have been born in the country, mr. coleman.”

“yes, sir; i am a farmer’s son.”

“what made you think of becoming an artist?” asked helen.

“i believe it was a severe punishment i received at school.”

helen looked surprised.

“i see you don’t understand how that should have had such an influence in determining my career. let me explain. i used from time to time to draw upon the slate pictures of my school-mates, which were regarded by the originals as very successful. one winter the prudential committee selected as teacher a young man of very singular appearance. his nose was immensely large, and of odd shape. one day, after finishing my sums in arithmetic, the fancy seized me to draw a picture of the teacher. i became interested in the portrait, so that when my class was called up i did not hear the summons, but kept on with my sketch. seeing how i was employed, mr. hargrave stepped up behind me on tiptoe, and to his inexpressible anger beheld the counterfeit presentment of himself, in which full justice was done to his leading deformity. he was probably sensible of his lack of beauty, and correspondingly sensitive. at all 103events, he was so far from appreciating my efforts, that he seized me by the collar, swung me out into the middle of the school-room, and gave me a cruel punishment, from which i did not for some time recover. i did not go back to school, my father being too indignant with the teacher for his unreasonable severity. he was desirous of seeing the sketch which had excited so strong a resentment. i accordingly reproduced it with a pencil as carefully as i could, and my father took the trouble to have it framed, and hung up in the sitting-room, where it attracted considerable attention and many encomiums. i believe it was this incident which led me to think seriously of becoming an artist by profession. twelve months since my father gave me what little money he could spare, and i came to new york to establish myself.”

“and what encouragement have you received, mr. coleman?” asked mr. ford, with kindly interest.

“of pecuniary encouragement, none,” was the reply. “that, however, it is too early to expect. i have been a part of the time in the studio of an established artist,—till two months since in fact,—obtaining what knowledge i absolutely required. then i transferred my studio to this room. you see before you the result of my two months’ labor.”

“you have made an excellent beginning. i feel safe in predicting your success.”

“thank you, sir. you asked me what encouragement i had received. your kind anticipation is among the most valuable.”

“i do not, of course, profess to be a competent judge,” said mr. ford; “but i think an inexperienced eye will see much to commend in your painting. it’s truth to nature is very striking. it is a pity you could not study abroad.”

“it is my ardent wish,” said the young man, “but quite beyond my power to compass. i have now been a year in 104the city, learning much, as i hope, but earning nothing. this has nearly brought me to the end of my scanty resources. i shall not be able to continue thus much longer. i confess to have built some hopes upon the picture i have just painted. if i could secure a purchaser at a fair price, it would enable me to protract my residence, which otherwise must soon be brought to an end.”

“there is one bond of fellowship between us, then,” said mr. ford, smiling; “that of poverty. i, too, am working on in present need, hoping some day to achieve success, and with it money. but in one respect i have the advantage of you. my little daughter, here,” placing his hand affectionately on helen’s head, “cheers me with her presence and sympathy, and is of more substantial help besides. i don’t know what i should do without her.”

“o father!” said helen.

“it is all true, my child. even now, she has obtained an engagement to sing at the theatre, chiefly, as i think, though she will not admit it, because she thinks the money will be of use to me.”

“indeed!” said the young artist. “i observed in this morning’s paper a very flattering account of the début of a young singer bearing your daughter’s name, but i had no idea it was she. wait a moment, here it is.”

the young man pointed out the paragraph to mr. ford, who read it with proud gratification. it was pleasant to him to find that the daughter who was so dear to him should be appreciated by the public.

“helen, i shall become proud of you,” he said.

“and i shall return the compliment, papa,—you know when. papa, i want to whisper to you a moment.”

“certainly, my dear; that is, if mr. coleman will excuse the impoliteness.”

105“don’t mention it, sir. i hope you will consider me so far a friend, as to treat me unceremoniously.”

“mr. coleman,” said mr. ford, after his whispered conference with helen, “my daughter desires me to invite you to dine with us. i trust you will feel inclined to accept the invitation.”

“with the greatest pleasure,” said the young man, his face brightening up.

“i need hardly tell you that we do not fare very sumptuously.”

the young man laughed. “and i need hardly assure you, sir, that i am quite unused to sumptuous fare. frankly, but for your invitation, my dinner would have consisted of some dry bread and a couple of sausages.”

“you can reserve those till to-morrow, then. i really don’t know what helen will give us. she allows no dictation in the commissary department.”

“now, papa,” remonstrated helen, “what will mr. coleman think of me? you are making me out to be a dreadful tyrant.”

“i thought it best to put him on his guard. since you are kind enough to accept our invitation, mr. coleman, helen will knock at your door when dinner is ready. good morning.”

“good morning, sir. i shall be quite ready for the summons.”

the artist went back to his work, but the image of helen’s childish beauty occasionally rose up before him, and he could not help wishing that heaven had given him such a sister.