"My father thinks scorn of art for a living,
and predicts me repentance and starvation. I tell him we shall see; one
must not expect to be a prophet in one's own country. But I am half
promised a commission at the Hampton Theatre--a new drop-scene. My
sketch is approved--it is a Forest view. The decision must come soon."
Everybody present wished the young fellow success. "Though whether you
have success or not you will have a share of happiness, because you are
a dear lover of Nature, and Nature never lets her lovers go unrewarded,"
said Mrs. Musgrave kindly.
"Ah! but I shall not be satisfied with her obscure favors," cried little
Christie airily.
"You must have applause: I don't think I care for applause," said young
Musgrave; and he cut Bessie a slice of cake.
Bessie proceeded to munch it with much gravity and enjoyment--Harry's
mother made excellent cakes--and the father of the house, smiling at her
serious absorption, patted her on the shoulder and said, "And what does
Bessie Fairfax care for?"
"Only to be loved," says Bessie without a thought.
"And that is what you will be, for love's a gift," rejoined Mr.
Musgrave. "These skip-jacks who talk of setting the world on fire will
be lucky if they make only blaze enough to warm themselves."
"Ay, indeed--and getting rich. Talk's cheap, but it takes a deal of
money to buy land," said his wife, who had a shrewd inkling of her son's
ambition, though he had not confessed it to her.
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