Christie, the King's Servant / A Sequel to Christie's Old Organ""

the sunlight streaming in at the window. I jumped up and looked out. The sun

even more beautiful than the night before, for every bit of colouring stood out clear and distinct in the sunshine. 'I shall get my best effec

as spread to dry. Behind rose the rocks, covered with tufts of grass, patches of gorse, tall yellow mustard plants and golden ragwort, and at the top of a steep flight of rock-hewn steps stood a white cottage with red-tiled roof, the little garden in front of it gay with hollyhocks and dahlias. A group

hilst little John looked on. He was sitting in his nightgown, curled up

a small black teapot, and a white and gold cup and saucer, upon which I saw the golden announcement, 'A pre

se were ready buttered, and were lying wrapped in a clean cloth in front of the fire. Polly made the tea as soon as I ente

, ran past the open door, crying, 'The boats! the boats!' Polly came flying into the kitchen, caught up little

ere just nearing shore, and almost every o

dishes or plates in their hands, for the herrings could be bought straight from

nd sent off by train to be sold elsewhere. It was a pretty animated scene, and I wished I had brought my

and disposed of, but he had time for a word with little John, and as I wa

said; 'and how do you li

roughly enjoyed the prospect before me. I found a shady place just under the wall of a house, where my picture would be in sunlight a

became conscious of the sound of voices just over my head, and

look. There's Betty Green's cottage, and Min

er voice; 'is it the old one with

; his hair's black, and he

like him much better than the old

r voice. 'You naughty boy! I beli

ld see nothing but a garden wall and a thick

o's there?

ne appeared, and nothing more happened,

hind me and silently watched me; a few made remarks to one another about my picture; one or two offered suggestions, thought I should have had a better view lowe

ob would say to Harry; 'his picture

doing, that, as time went on, I was often obliged to ask them to mov

ble little dinner which Polly had prepared for me. In the afternoon the light would be all wrong fo

r a minute or two, and then stop suddenly, only to begin again more loudly a few seconds later. At times I distinguished a few bars of a tune, then only disjointed notes followed. Could it be a child strumming idly on a harmonium? but no, it was not at all like an instrument of that kind. It was an annoying, worr

her's favourite tune; in fact, I never heard it without thinking of her. Many and many a time had she sung me to sleep with that tune. I had scarlet fever when I was five years old, and my mother had nursed me through it, and when I was weary and fretful she would sing to me-my pretty fair-haired mother. Even as I sat before my easel

weet home above the sky which was the best and brightest home of all. I wonder what she would think of me now, I said to myself,

d cared for none of these things, and I had learnt to look at the world and at life from her worldly standpoint, and had forgotten to seek first the Kingdom of God. Oh! if my mother only knew, my pretty, beautiful moth

that it came it set my memory going, and brought back to me the words and the looks which I thought I had forgotten. And it set so

l that I felt it would be a great mistake to change, and I hoped that the individual, man, woman, or child, w

appened except that my picture made progress. Then came two wet days, on which I

as I painted, and would tell me stories of storms and shipwrecks, and of the differ

r boat; she lies in a house down by the shore, as trim an

n in many a storm you

to see land again. I didn't care so much when I was a young chap. You see, my father and mother were dead, an

'there's Polly

God to bring his daddy safe home again. And I know, sir, as well as I know anything, that when God Almighty hears and answers her prayer, and brings me safe to land, Polly and little John will be standing on yon rocks a-straining their eyes for the first sight of the boats, and then a-running down almost i

id, 'to talk of not being afraid to di

r; we're born with that feeling, I often think, and we can no more help it than we can help any other thing we're born with. But