But, in spite of all my wishes, the strange sound went on, and again and
again I had to listen to 'Home, Sweet Home,' and each time 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 something else going
too--the still, small voice within, accusing me of forgetfulness, not so
much of my mother as of my mother's God.
I began to wish most heartily that I had chosen some other spot for my
picture. But it was working out so well that I felt it would be a great
mistake to change, and I hoped that the individual, man, woman, or
child, who had been making that horrible noise might find some other
employment to-morrow, and might leave me in peace.
The next day my wishes were fulfilled, for I was not disturbed, and very
little happened except that my picture made progress. Then came two wet
days, on which I had to paint in my little chamber, and did not get back
to my seat under the wall.
I saw a good deal of Duncan during those wet days. He would come and sit
beside me as I painted, and would tell me stories of storms and
shipwrecks, and of the different times when the lifeboat had been sent
out, and of the many lives she had saved.
Pages:
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39