"Some one loves this place," said the novelist, softly, when they stood,
again, in the entrance.
And the artist answered in the same hushed voice, "I wonder what it
means?"
When they were again in the barn, Aaron King became eagerly enthusiastic
over the possibilities of the big room. "Some rightly toned burlap on the
walls and ceiling,"--he pointed out,--"with floor covering and rugs in
harmony; there"--rolling back the big door as he spoke--"your north light;
some hangings and screens to hide the stairway to the loft, and the stable
door; your entrance over here in the corner, nicely out of the way; and
the window looking into the garden--it's great man, great!"
"And," answered Conrad Lagrange, from where he stood in the big front
door, "the mountains! Don't forget the mountains. The soft, steady, north
light on your canvas, and a message from the mountains to your soul,
through the same window, should make it a good place to work, Mr.
Painter-man. I suppose over here"--he moved away from the window, and
spoke in his mocking way--"over here, you will have a tea-table for the
ladies of the circle elect--who will come to, 'oh', and, 'ah', their
admiration of the newly discovered genius, and to chatter their
misunderstandings of his art.
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