"It is so true, so--so"--she searched for a word, and
smiled in triumph when she found it--"so _right_--so beautifully right.
It--it makes me feel as--as I feel when I am at church--and the organ
plays soft and low, and the light comes slanting through the window, and
some one reads those beautiful words, 'The Lord is in his holy temple; let
all the earth keep silence before him'."
"Why!" exclaimed the artist, "that is exactly what I wanted it to say.
When I saw this place, and heard the waters over there, like a great
organ; and saw how the sunshine falls through the trees; I felt as you
say, and I am trying to paint the picture so that those who see it will
feel that way too."
Her face was aglow with enthusiastic understanding as she cried eagerly,
"Oh, I know! I know! I'm like that with my music! When I look at the
mountains sometimes--or at the trees and flowers, or hear the waters sing,
or the winds call--I--I get so full and so--so kind of choked up inside
that it hurts; and I feel as though I must try to tell it--and then I take
my violin and try and try to make the music say what I feel. I never can
though--not altogether. But _you_ have made your picture say what you
feel.
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