THE STUDIO
Elizabeth rushed panting into her mother’s presence. “Such an
adventure,”--she gasped. “Never in my wildest moments did I ever dream
of such a delicious encounter; that I, of all people, should be so
highly favored is almost uncomprehensible.”
“If there are any adventures floating around I’ll be bound you will
lasso one,” said Kathie, amused at Elizabeth’s manner of announcement.
“What are those? Pussywillows, as I live! I didn’t know they were out.
Give them to me and I will put them in water; they will be nice for the
table.”
But Elizabeth held on to her treasures. “I got them for Miss Jewett,”
she said. “You can’t have them, Kathie.”
“Well, I do think you might think of your own home first,” returned
Kathie.
“The other girls all have such lovely things to give her,” complained
Elizabeth. “Betsy has flowers from the conservatory and Bess has money
enough to send to town for any she wants to give, but I have only what
I can find myself. I did want to take these because they are the very
first and nobody else has thought of them. Do I have to give them up,
mother?”
“Let her do as she pleases with them, Kathie,” said Mrs. Hollins.
“She has a right to them and you should not interfere with her little
innocent plans. What is this about an adventure, Elizabeth?”
“I have met an artist, a real live artist,” she said, sitting up with
shining eyes. “It was just after I found the pussywillows. I came
across him as he was sitting painting, and, oh mother, he put me in the
picture; he really did.”
“Are you sure you are not making this up?” asked Kathie.
“No, indeed, I am not. I can prove it to you; for here is his valuable
name. Be careful,” she warned, as she held out the leaf, “the paint is
not dry yet.”
“Paint?” Kathie exclaimed, taking the leaf in her hand and reading the
name. “Why, Elizabeth, he must be some sort of crazy creature to be
calling himself a reincarnation of Titian.”
“Oh, that part is just a joke,” returned Elizabeth. “He said there was
an artist named Titian who liked red hair. I didn’t know that he lived
such a long, long time ago and I asked Mr. Kemp if he were Titian; that
was before I knew his name. Did you ever hear of Titian, mother?”
“Why, yes, dear, of course I have. He was a very famous man, and his
pictures now bring fabulous prices.”
“Tell us some more about your discovery,” said Kathie, now really
interested.
“He is very nice and jolly,” Elizabeth went on, “and he likes it here
in Brookdale. He came over from Ferny and is staying at the Mansion
House.”
“Poor thing, I am sorry for him,” remarked Kathie.
“Oh, he doesn’t like it himself. He asked me if I knew of a
chicken-coop or something little where he could put his easel and
things.”
“Oh, he wants a studio, does he? I don’t know where he will find one in
this place,” said Mrs. Hollins.
“It would be rather a distinction to have an artist among us,” remarked
Kathie. “Of course he was just in fun when he said a chicken-coop,
Elizabeth; he would want something larger and with a good light. Can
you think of any place, mother?”
“Why, no, nothing occurs to me just now; I may think of something later
on. We will ask your father.”
“He is coming to see me tomorrow, Mr. Kemp is,” Elizabeth spoke up. “He
thought maybe I would hear of some place by then.”
“Well, I declare,” responded Kathie, “you have rushed into a friendship
sure enough; the next thing he will be wanting to paint your portrait”;
she spoke half mockingly.
“Oh, he has already said he would like to,” Elizabeth said calmly.
“Well, well,”--Kathie looked at her with new interest. Being a pretty
girl herself she had never thought that Elizabeth would attract the eye
of an artist as she was very unlike her sister. “We shall certainly
have to inquire around and see what we can do for him.”
“We shall have to inquire around and find out something about the
young man himself,” said Mrs. Hollins.
After all it was Elizabeth who made the discovery of a suitable studio,
or at least of a place which could be turned into one. Probably less
ingenious persons than herself and Mr. Kemp would never have thought of
it, but these two saw its possibilities when they went on a search in
company.
The young man appeared as he had promised, the next afternoon.
Elizabeth proudly presented him to her mother and father, who were not
long in satisfying themselves that he was a gentleman, that he was well
known by certain of their acquaintances in the nearby town and that
they need have no hesitation in admitting him into their circle. He was
very nice and courteous to Kathie, but it was evidently Elizabeth whom
he had selected as chief friend and, later on, she was permitted to go
off with him to hunt up a studio.
They tried the village first, but here there were only one or two
possibilities, a small house with a dreary outlook, a loft over a
store, where it was noisy and inconvenient.
“Won’t do, Elfie,” said Mr. Kemp, shaking his head. “I must be ‘far
from the madding crowd,’ and I must have a north light, or at least a
place where I could put in a window on the north side if necessary.”
“Why do you want it on the north side? It is so cold there in winter.
Do you like the north better than any other place?”
“No, my child, I do not, but be it known to you that the light varies
less, the sun doesn’t gallop around so recklessly and doesn’t throw
such exasperating reflections and shadows on your canvas.”
Elizabeth didn’t understand why this should make any very great
difference, but it did seem a reason from an artist’s point of view and
she accepted it. She felt that she might learn many new things if this
lately acquired friend should remain with them.
They had wandered up and down the road, had peered in at the
out-buildings of more than one small farm, and finally returned by
the back road to Elizabeth’s own home. “That is where my cousin Ruth
lives,” said Elizabeth, pointing out a gray stone house plainly seen
through the bare trees. “It is a very pretty place. We can go through
it, if you like, for there is a little gate just ahead. I think you
would like to see the old spring with the little statue over it and
there is a lovely view from the summer-house.”
“Let us go by all means,” agreed Mr. Kemp; “I am interested in fine
views and ‘the old spring with a statue’ sounds most alluring.”
“My cousins aren’t here now,” Elizabeth told him; “but they are coming
back soon. Ruth had the measles and had to go to Florida for the
winter, but as soon as the weather is warm enough they will come back.”
They entered through the little gate and first visited the spring
from which issued a small stream which went purling down the hill.
The spring had been restoned and the little statue, although somewhat
weather-stained, was in pretty good condition. “There,” exclaimed
Elizabeth proudly, “isn’t that lovely? Ruth and I discovered it first,
and we like this place to play in better than any.”
“It is rather nice,” said the young man, looking around critically.
“A little too much cleaned up to be really artistic, you know; but it
isn’t half bad. I wouldn’t mind making a study of it; I suppose there
would be no objection to my coming in here to do it while the family
are away.”
“Oh, I am sure you may,” returned Elizabeth. “We keep the keys of the
house, but there is a man who looks after the place and the animals. He
lives in the new garage; he has a room over it.”
Mr. Kemp stepped to this side and that, looking at the spring from
different points of view, gazing through his half-closed hand in a way
that he had, and which Elizabeth was learning to imitate.
“Now, let’s go to the summer-house,” said Elizabeth, leading the way
to the top of the hill; “it is all fixed over and Grandpa Gil likes to
come up here and sit.”
“Well, I say, this is stunning,” remarked Mr. Kemp when they had
reached the spot. “Not very paintable, perhaps, but it gives you a
mighty good idea of the surrounding country. I say, Elfie, what is that
down there?”
Elizabeth looked in the direction he indicated. “Why, that,” she told
him, “is where the old farm-house used to be; it was burned down and
that is only the foundation. Cousin Tom didn’t rebuild it, because the
garage is nearer and has all the room that is needed.”
“I didn’t mean the foundation, although with vines and underbrush
growing over it I imagine it is rather picturesque, but what I was
looking at was the small building near it; what is that?”
“Why, I don’t know exactly; they don’t use it now. I think it was a
sort of stable first and then they used it for the chickens.” She broke
off abruptly and gave a little squeal. “Oh, Mr. Titian, maybe we have
found it.”
“That is just what I was thinking, Elfie; let’s go and see.”
They lost no time in rushing toward the old weather-beaten building
which stood on the side of the hill quite a distance from the main
house. A large tree sheltered it on the south side, but on the north
and west the view was unobstructed. A little path led from it to the
spring. It was rather dilapidated, windows broken and roof leaky.
Mr. Kemp went around to see if there might be a door unfastened or a
shutter loose, and at last he found a place where they could get in.
Elizabeth thought it the greatest fun to be boosted up over the sill of
the window, where they made their entrance, and to land on the dusty
floor inside. “We are like discoverers,” she said. “It is pretty
bad, isn’t it? Such a lot of cobwebs, and you can look up and see
daylight right through some of the holes in the roof, and it is rather
malodorous from the chickens.”
Mr. Kemp laughed. “You got it, didn’t you, that time. I say, Elfie, it
isn’t half so bad as it looks. A few shingles will make the roof all
right, I think. I could knock out a place over here, you see, and put
in a couple of window-sashes and I would have a good light. There over
in that corner I could carry that partition all the way up and make a
sort of kitchenette or something of the sort. There seems to be a solid
floor over the greater part of it, and--yes, there is a ladder, as I
live; I’ll go up and see what it looks like above there. No, don’t you
come; you might fall.”
He raised the ladder, ran lightly up, and through the apertures made
by the absence of boards Elizabeth could see him above. “Not bad,” he
called down to her. “With a little work one could make a fair room up
here.”
He came down presently and Elizabeth begged to go part way so she could
look around. This she was permitted to do, Mr. Kemp standing below
telling her he would catch her if she should fall.
“There is quite good head room,” he said, “much more than you
would suppose. Why, Elfie, one could really live here and be quite
comfortable in mild weather. For an impecunious artist it would be
ideal. Now, how do you suppose we’d better go about getting it? I can
do all the repairing myself, and they wouldn’t be likely to charge much
rent, would they?”
“If they would rent it at all,” returned Elizabeth a little doubtfully.
“I wouldn’t interfere with them: I would be very unobtrusive,” Mr. Kemp
went on in a boyish way. “Do you suppose your father would take it upon
himself to dicker for it on my behalf?”
“I don’t know,” Elizabeth answered; “but it wouldn’t do any harm to ask
him.”
“Well, let’s go and do it now,” suggested the young man. “The sooner
the better for me. To tell you the truth, Elfie, the Mansion House
is getting on my nerves. The coffee this morning was something
indescribable, and I don’t know whether it was leather, old boot-tops,
the binding of a discarded book, or a worn-out saddle that they served
up as steak.”
“Oh dear!” This description aroused Elizabeth’s pity and she was ready
to do anything in order to release her friend from such a condition. So
they scrambled out of the window again, looking back more than once at
the building on the side of the hill.
“What is the name of your cousins?” asked Mr. Kemp as they went toward
Elizabeth’s home.
“Gilmore,” she told him. “Cousin Tom Gilmore is the one who owns the
place.”
“I don’t suppose by any stretch of the imagination it could be any
relation to the Tom Gilmore who married Belle Darby.”
“Why, yes it is. At least cousin Tom’s wife is cousin Belle.”
“His father is a tall old gentleman, has trouble with his eyes, has
been living in California?”
“Why yes, that is Grandpa Gil. He is a great friend of mine.”
“Hurrah!” Mr. Kemp tossed up his hat and shouted joyously. “It’s all
right, Elfie; I am sure of it, for one of the Gilmore boys married my
cousin and we have known them all our lives. I didn’t know Tom Gilmore
was living here.”
“They haven’t been very long,” Elizabeth told him. “They only came last
year. It is cousin Belle who is my mother’s first cousin. Why, we are
sort of related, aren’t we?”
“Certainly we are. I say, Elfie, but this is great. I had no idea I was
falling upon such luck. I will telegraph to Tom myself and I am sure it
will be all right.”
And so it proved to be. The telegram was sent off without delay and the
answer came back: “Go ahead. It is yours. Make yourself at home.”
Mr. Kemp came rushing up with the news to Elizabeth. “Now, Elfie,” he
said, “you have got to help me and when everything is finished we will
give a tea and invite some of our friends.”
“How entrancing!” exclaimed Elizabeth, clasping her hands over her
breast. “Mr. Titian, you are a gem of purest ray serene.”
He had fallen into her manner of speech by now and usually matched her
high-flown language by something even more grandiloquent. “And you, my
dear Elfie,” he said, “shall be the reigning sovereign of my sylvan
retreat. I may as well confess to you at the outset,” he went on, “that
I am wondering how I shall furnish my modest abode when it is put into
habitable condition.”
Elizabeth knitted her brows over this problem. “I suppose you haven’t
a great deal of money,” she said hesitatingly, for she did not want to
hurt his feelings. “I am, alas, in the same impoverished condition, but
if twenty-five cents would do you any good I will gladly add that to
your store.”
“Elfie, you are too much for me,” returned the young man gravely.
“Bless your dear little heart! I don’t know anyone I would rather
borrow from, but I won’t ask you to lend yet. We will see how well we
can manage first. Of course you knew long ago that I was not rolling
in wealth. In fact, it took my bottom dollar to get me through my trip
to Europe, but it was well worth it. I am rather resourceful and I can
manage, even if I have to sleep on a pile of straw.”
This seemed poverty indeed to Elizabeth and she determined to consult
her mother about certain discarded articles in the attic. This she
did that very evening, but in the meantime Mr. Kemp had made the
joyous announcement of his connection with the Gilmore family and had
been accepted as something more than an ordinary acquaintance. He had
met many of the young people and was considered a great addition to
their circle, for he was merry and entertaining, good-tempered and
thoughtful, so was included in all social affairs of the neighborhood
and was frequently invited out to dinner; consequently the fare at the
Mansion House became less of a grievance.
Therefore it happened that when Elizabeth began to make her inquiries
about the odd pieces of cast-off furniture Kathie was ready to lend a
hand.
“Oh, do let him have any of that old stuff,” she begged. “We must fix
him up somehow. Probably he will want to use it only for awhile anyhow.
What is there up there, mother?”
Mrs. Hollins considered. “Well, let me see; there is a table with a
broken leg, two or three rickety chairs and things of that kind. There
is an old four-poster bedstead, too, but he would hardly want that.”
“He might,” declared Kathie; “we will ask him, anyhow.”
The upshot of the matter was that contributions came in from near and
far. The young people began to be interested at once, and were eager
to have a hand in furnishing the studio, so one and another hunted up
odds and ends of furniture. The Paines rooted out an old bureau from
their attic and that was the beginning of a collection which included
a mattress, pillows, curtains, covers, rugs, odd dishes, and ended up
with a kerosene oil stove. All these were mounted upon a wagon and one
Saturday morning appeared a procession of young folks following the
wagon to its destination. Neal Paine, Dick Hollins, Hal Tyson, and some
others had lent a hand toward the repairing of the old building and
were on the premises when the wagon approached. Elizabeth, of course,
was there and was the one who first spied the troop.
“Look what’s coming!” she cried out.
The workers inside speedily rushed out, and the goods were dumped on
the ground amid much laughter and joking. The girls insisted upon
helping to clean the rooms and worked with a will, so that before the
day was over the little house really looked cosey and as if it had been
lived in by “somebody besides chickens,” Elizabeth said. Thus was the
studio of Oliver Kemp established and many good times did it see.