MR. CROYDEN KEEPS HIS PROMISE
When Theo awoke the next day the novelty of his surroundings drove
every thought of Greek pottery from his mind. As he peeped out of his
window he could see slanting rifts of early sunlight flecking with
gold the trunks of the great pines. From the chimney of the
cookhouse a spiral of blue smoke was ascending and as it rose it
carried into the air with it a pleasant odor of burning wood and
frying bacon.
Theo did not dally with his dressing, you may be sure; he was far too
hungry, and too eager to attack the program for the day.
"Put on thick boots, son," called Dr. Swift from his room. "The
weather is fine. It is an ideal morning to tramp across Owl's Nest
Carry and fish in the lake beyond there."
"What time is it, Father?" inquired Theo. "I forgot to wind my watch
last night."
"Six o'clock. We shall have a three mile walk, and plenty of time to
get in some fishing before the sun is high. Then we can paddle
up-stream to the camp at the farther end of Owl Lake and cook our
lunch. How does that plan please you?"
"Hurrah!" cried Theo. "Is there a camp like this over there?"
"Oh, no. Just a lean-to which serves as a shelter, if people want to
spend the night and be on hand for early morning fishing. Sometimes,
too, I have gone over in the late afternoon and fished until dark,
afterward turning in on the pine boughs for the night. It is only a
crude little camp, but it is perfectly comfortable. You will like Owl
Lake. It is smaller than this one, but it has a very pretty shore
bordered with a stretch of white sandy beach."
"It must be a great place for swimming."
"It is. Just now, however, the water is too cold. Later in the season
when things get warmed up it is the finest bathing place
imaginable. Are you ready for breakfast now?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you'd better run along. I will join you in a few moments. I must
go first and see Manuel about the lunch."
"All right, sir."
Through the crisp morning air Theo bounded across to the dining-cabin,
where he found Mr. Croyden.
A bright fire burned on the hearth and the table with its heaping
plates of hot johnny-cake looked most inviting.
"Hello, youngster!" called the older man, glancing up with a
smile. "How do you find yourself to-day? All lamed up after your jolt
over the carry?"
"Not a bit, Mr. Croyden," laughed Theo. "I'm not lame at all. I'm just
hungry."
"A perfectly normal condition. So long as you can eat I guess there is
not much the matter with you."
"Oh, I can always eat," grinned Theo. "Mother says my appetite never
goes back on me."
"Well, fall to. It looks as if Franz had prepared for the worst,"
chuckled Mr. Croyden. "What are you and your dad up to to-day?"
"We are going to Owl Lake to fish."
"That isn't a bad beginning. It is not a long tramp, and the fish are
biting well over there. I have tried it several times and had
excellent luck. You are wise to start in gradually and not attempt
too long a jaunt at first. There is everything in getting into
training, as your father well knows."
There was a bang of the door, and Dr. Swift entered.
"Good-morning, Doctor," said Mr. Croyden. "So you and your son are to
try your skill at Owl to-day?"
"Yes. That seemed to be a good starter."
"An excellent one."
"Why don't you come along with us?"
"I?"
"Yes; that is, unless you have other plans. We should be glad to have
you. The more the merrier."
"I wish you would come, Mr. Croyden," urged Theo.
"That is very kind of you," returned Mr. Croyden, hesitating a
little. "I had not planned my day. Are you sure you want so many?"
"Three is not many. Come along, by all means," declared
Dr. Swift. "Manuel says the lake has not yet been fished much and that
the trout are biting well. Get Tony, your guide, to pack up your
tackle and bring some lunch. I am afraid we have not enough for all
hands."
Mr. Croyden sprang to his feet.
"I'll do that," he replied. "What time are you starting?"
"Just as soon as I have succeeded in getting Theo to take a little
nourishment," returned the Doctor.
This task Dr. Swift evidently did not find difficult, for within a
half hour the party were setting forth through the woods.
The luncheon, tackle, and sweaters had been put into a canoe, which
Tony and Manuel raised to their shoulders as if it were a feather.
"There is a punt over at Owl that we can use, so we shall need only
one canoe," explained Manuel as he strode along.
The carry was not a rough one, but to Theo, accustomed to the
smoothness of city pavements, it seemed very rough indeed. He was
continually stepping into holes or climbing over fallen tree-trunks,
and although a good walker, the pace the guides set made him
pant. Even Dr. Swift was forced to confess that he was out of breath
and was obliged now and then to stop and rest. Mr. Croyden, on the
contrary, swung along the narrow trail with the ease of an Indian.
"You will get into trim in a few days," he observed encouragingly to
Theo. "I myself am always stiff and slow until I get limbered up."
When, however, Owl Lake finally came into sight both Theo and his
father instantly forgot their fatigue.
There stretched the tiny sheet of water, a gem of flashing blue whose
calm surface mirrored the pines and delicate birches bordering its
margin.
The punt and canoe were launched, the tackle unpacked, and amid a
silence broken only by the dip of oar and paddle the fishermen drifted
out into the stillness.
Ah, it was a day never to be forgotten! Certainly Theo would never
forget it, for it was during the first half-hour of this Arabian
Night's dream that he proudly landed a beautiful lake trout, the first
one he had ever caught.
From the moment he felt the tug at his line until his catch was safely
in the bottom of the boat his excitement was tremendous. How the
little creature pulled! How it swept away with the bait into deep
water! With Manuel, Dr. Swift, Tony, and Mr. Croyden all coaching
him, and almost as frenzied as he, poor Theo hardly knew where he
was. But he obeyed the insistent command of: "_Play him! Play him!_"
and play him he did. Even with the captive's final leap into the air
the trout did not succeed in freeing itself from the hook. Keeping his
prize well away from the boat that the line might not slacken Theo at
last reeled in his victim.
He gasped when the feat was accomplished.
The second time he knew better what to do; and before the sun was high
and the fish had ceased to bite he landed five beauties.
In the meantime both his father and Mr. Croyden had been so absorbed
in watching his pleasure that they had almost forgotten their own
lines, and it was not until a big land-loch struck that the Doctor
remembered he, too, was fishing. When finally a lull in the sport
came and the party pulled up-stream toward the lean-to, there were a
dozen good-sized trout in Mr. Croyden's basket and as many more in the
Doctor's.
Then came the disembarking at the upper end of the lake, and the
building of the fire. Dry wood was taken from the shelter of the
house, and in the clearing before the camp, on a foundation of large
flat stones, the fire was kindled. It was a marvel to Theo to see how
quickly Manuel and Tony made things ready. They produced a small
frying-pan, greased it, and had the fish sizzling in it before you
could say Jack Robinson. Then they unpacked the hampers and brought
forth tin plates, knives, and forks.
How good the meal tasted!
The great slices of bread-and-butter, with layers of creamy cheese
between them, seemed a royal feast to the ravenous sportsmen; and the
steaming coffee and thin slices of crisp bacon food for the gods. As
for the trout--particularly the big one Theo himself had caught--well,
there never was such eating!
After lunch was done the fishermen were loth to leave the sunny
shelter of the cabin.
Dr. Swift and Mr. Croyden lounged on the door-sill, while Theo skipped
stones in the water until his arm was tired. Then exhausted by his
exertions he sank wearily down on a stump near the lean-to and
remarked:
"Why wouldn't this be a good time, Mr. Croyden, to tell us some more
about Greek pottery?"
"Greek pottery? Bless my heart! I thought you had forgotten all about
that."
"So I had when I was fishing," confessed Theo honestly. "But I have
remembered it again now."
"You are a frank youngster," laughed Mr. Croyden. "Well, let me
see. You know the making of pottery was a fine art among the
Greeks. They made two kinds--neither of them glazed, of course,
because at that time nobody knew how to glaze pottery. The first kind
was a pottery of red clay on which were placed decorations of black
pigment; the other was a pottery on which they painted figures in red,
afterward filling in the background around them with black. These two
varieties of ware are briefly known as black on red, and red on
black. The black portion of this pottery possessed a wonderful polish
which came from the black pigment mixed with the clay; the red part,
on the contrary, had no lustre, evidently being smoothed and polished
with some hard tool after the vase was finished. These vases were
very beautiful in form and design, no two of them being alike. Each
was made by an individual artist who pleased himself as to the
arrangement of the birds, animals, and gracefully draped figures
with which he decorated it. The famous Francois vase at Florence is a
marvelous example of this sixth century workmanship; every inch of its
closely adorned surface is covered with carefully drawn figures in
black, white, and purple. This particular piece was probably made by
two Athenian artists, as it shows two distinct types of work. Think
how fortunate we are to have had it come down to us unbroken through
the tumult of the years!"
Mr. Croyden gazed thoughtfully into the fire.
"You know that at the time these exquisite vases were made the entire
Greek nation was devoting itself to the fashioning of beautiful
things. Sculptors were carving wonderful statues, toiling eagerly to
make each piece more perfect in form; architects were rearing such
buildings as the world has never since seen; and in the centre of
Athens a district was reserved which was entirely occupied by the
shops of potters and painters and known as the _ceramicus_. It is from
this ancient word that our present day term ceramics is
derived. Within this area devoted to the making of pottery the artists
worked, each one reverently bending his energy to give to the world a
thing which should be as nearly perfect in form and decoration as he
could make it. Thousands of vases went out, many of them into the
homes of rich, beauty-loving Greeks; many into the temples; and many
into Athenian tombs; for the people of this nation always loyally
honored their dead. In addition to these vases there were smaller
articles--perfume bottles, jars for wine or water, utensils used at
ceremonials in the temples; and the beautiful amphora, a vase given as
a prize at the great Greek festivals, and the progenitor of the silver
cups we now give the winners in athletic games. This latter type of
vase had two handles and frequently its base was tapered to a point in
order that it might rest in a tripod, or be thrust into the earth. At
the Louvre in Paris there is a very famous Greek amphora which I hope
you will see some day."
"I should like to see it," declared Theo eagerly.
"I intend you shall, son," put in Dr. Swift. "I mean to give you the
chance to see all the finest things in the world, if I have my way."
Theo smiled gratefully into his father's face.
"When we marvel at the grace and perfection of Greek decoration we
must bear in mind that as a spur to their artistic sense the people
had beauty constantly before them. Theirs was a country of smiling
skies, of blue heaven and golden sunshine; their buildings breathed
the very essence of all that is highest in art; even the throngs that
filled the streets were picturesque and classic in appearance. For in
those days fashions of dress did not change as capriciously as they do
now. A beautiful style of costume was adopted and retained, and in
consequence artists had ever before them men and women who were
excellent models for chaste decoration. In our time such a procedure
would be impossible, as the national dress of both our men and women
has become utilitarian rather than beautiful, and now has little
artistic to recommend it. If we wish classic draperies and faultless
styles of hair-dressing we must revert to the past for our models."
There was a silence broken only by the snapping of the fire.
"To give you some idea how much of this pottery the Greeks turned out
I must tell you that at Naples there is a collection of two thousand
Greek cups and vases. The Vatican at Rome has one thousand more;
Florence has seven hundred; Turin five hundred; Vienna three hundred;
Berlin about seventeen hundred; the Louvre at Paris fifteen hundred;
and the British Museum nearly twenty-six hundred. Besides these there
are some twenty thousand more scattered all over the world in private
collections."
A whistle of surprise escaped Theo.
"Not all of these are equally good, however," went on
Mr. Croyden. "The Etruscan work done by wandering Greek potters and by
some persons rated as identical with the Roman Samian ware, is one of
the finest varieties remaining to us; probably because it escaped
being buried with the dead and therefore was not injured or discolored
by the soil as were so many of the Greek vases found at
Athens. Moreover, we must remember that not every artist who made and
decorated an object excelled. Naturally some did more perfect work
than others, even in the days of the best Grecian art. How sad it is
that at a later period in history the work of the Greeks became less
fine because the ideals of the race degenerated. Pottery makers,
sculptors, and builders began to produce cheap, gaudy things which
were lavishly decorated, and reflected the luxury and extravagance
that had crept into the nation. From that moment the glory of Greece
decayed. For it is the ideals of a country and its people that serve
as guide-posts to the greatest and finest deeds. Unless each
individual in a land aims at the purest and best his country will
never reach holiness. It is the struggle for perfection in every field
of life that results in fine art, fine men, and fine nations."
Mr. Croyden had become very grave.
Then he rose abruptly, took out his pipe, and knocked the bowl of it
upon a stump.
"Well, well," he exclaimed with a swift return to his accustomed
gaiety, "I think I have lectured long enough. See! Manuel has
everything packed up and is waiting for us. Suppose we start back
home."
But Theo was very quiet on the trip back to the camp.
He was thinking about the Greeks.
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