Cameron had been reading his letter at the tea-table.
’Children,’ he said, and rose up, his face working, his eyes shining strangely, ’children, mother wants me to paint pictures again. I—she says I am to get the box down.’
The table had no comprehension of the greatness of the matter, but rose up at once, at seeing the father so moved. Roly brought his mug of sweetened milk along with him, Floss continued to bite at her crust of bread-and-jam, Miss Browne fluttered about, Hermie and Bart pressed at their father’s elbow.
’Bring a chair, Bartie,’ Cameron said, ’here at the cupboard in the hall.’
’Mine cubbub,’ interjected Floss; ’me’s hat in dere. Go ’way, daddie.’
’I’ll climb up,’ said eager Bart. ’What is it up there, dad?’
’Give me the chair—let me reach it down myself,’ Cameron said, and stepped up and stretched his long arm to the top.
A dusty mustard-box! The children’s eyes brightened with swift thoughts of treasure, then dulled when the lid was flung back and displayed nothing but a chaos of dirty oil-tubes and brushes.
But when they saw their father’s glistening eyes, saw him fingering the same tubes with a tender, lingering touch, looking at the brushes’ points, they did not tell him they were disappointed in the treasure. Instead, Bart led off with a cheer.
’Hurrah for daddie the artist!’ he shouted.
’Me dive daddie dat,’ she said in her kindest way, ’out mine cubbub.’
And thus was the painting of the ship begun.
’Can you see what I mean, Bart?’ Cameron said two months later, when the picture was almost finished, so desperately had he worked at it.
’You mean it for a ship, don’t you?’ Bart said. ’If I’d been you, though, dad, I’d have painted a steamship with two funnels. People don’t think much of sailing-boats now.’
’Can you see what I mean, Hermie?’ Cameron said, and wistfulness had crept into his eyes.
Hermie’s blue-flower eyes were regarding the great canvas dubiously.
’Couldn’t you have made the water blue, papa?’ she said; ’the sea is blue, you know. P’raps, though, you hadn’t enough blue paint. But I like it to be a sailing-boat; steamships aren’t so clean.’
The man’s heart clamoured for his wife, who had never been at a loss to find what he meant. For a moment it seemed intolerable to him that she was not there at his elbow, to share the exaltation of the moment with him.