Amateur Artists
Flowery June had given place to blazing July. The pink roses were fading
on the cottage fronts, and the laburnums had long been over. Tall white
lilies still bloomed in the village gardens, and geraniums were
beginning to show their scarlet glory. The fresh green of early summer
had yielded to darker tones, the trees were thick masses of foliage, the
hedges a tangle of traveller's joy. If the landscape lacked the
inspiration of spring, it was nevertheless full of rich beauty,
especially to eyes trained to appreciate the picturesque. Miss Aubrey's
sketching class was at present quite a large one, for it had been
augmented by the addition of Viola, Dorrie, and Diana. Now that their
matriculation examination was over, they no longer needed private
coaching, and Mrs. Franklin transferred their spare hours to her sister.
The three monitresses were glad of the change; after the hard brainwork
and the very close application that had been required from them, they
turned to painting with the greatest relief. Every afternoon a
procession of enthusiastic students, bearing camp-stools and easels,
wended its way from Aireyholme. At first Miss Aubrey had led her
artistic flock to the village, but with July days came a change of
plans. The Council school broke up for six weeks, and Heathwell was
suddenly over-run with children. Although according to statistics the
population of England might be on the decrease, here it certainly showed
no signs of dwindling. Small people were everywhere, as the amateur
artists found to their cost. No doubt it was most unreasonable of the
Aireyholme girls, who liked their own August vacation, to object to
other schools having holidays, but they did not appreciate a crowd of
spectators, and grumbled exceedingly.
"Good-bye to the last remnants of peace and quiet!" said Dorrie. "We're
simply haunted by these wretched infants. They seem to think us fair
game. I had the whole of the Gartley family, including the baby, sitting
round my feet to-day."
"I like children singly or in pairs, or even up to half a dozen,"
protested Diana, "but when it comes to having them wholesale like this,
I feel as if I were minding a creche. Oh, what a nuisance they are!"
"It all comes of being too attractive, as the old lady said when she was
struck by lightning!" laughed Gwethyn.
The class was sketching the street and the market hall. Some of the
girls were making very good attempts at the subject, and Miss Aubrey was
most anxious for them to finish their paintings, so for two more
afternoons they braved their fatal popularity. It was impossible to
escape the too friendly juveniles. Scouts were generally waiting to
convey the news of their arrival, and they would walk down the village
followed by a long comet's tail of small fry, who would encamp close to
them on the market-hall steps, bringing babies, puppies, or kittens,
eating bread and treacle, munching green apples, and singing deafening
school songs in chorus. It was not the slightest use to tell the
youngsters to go away; they would only retreat to a distance of about
ten yards, and then edge gradually nearer again.
"I've tried to look cross and savage," said Gladwin Riley, "but they
only grin."
"I've been trying to civilize them," sighed Nan Bethell. "I suggested to
one youth that it would be an improvement for him to wash his
particularly grimy little fingers. He looked at me, and then at his
hands for a moment or two--apparently it takes some time for the
agricultural brain to turn over a new idea--then he remarked briefly: 'I
likes 'em dirty!' and transferred them to his pockets. Any further
arguments on my poor part would, I felt, be superfluous."
Though the girls laughed over the humour of their experiences, they
really found the children very trying, and both teacher and pupils were
thankful when the sketches of the market hall were successfully
finished. One final incident seemed the coping-stone of their
annoyances. A child, even more eager than the rest to press near, was
jostled by the others off the raised pathway where she was standing, and
fell with a crash on to the road, almost upsetting Katrine's easel, and
smashing a bottle of vinegar which she had been holding clasped in her
arms. A woman, who proved to be the delinquent's mother, came out from
a cottage, and after first administering a vigorous smack to her
offspring, offered hot water wherewith to sponge the damaged clothing.
"She was really very kind," said Katrine afterwards, "but I could see
that she was all the time regretting such a waste of good vinegar, more
than sympathizing with me for absorbing it. I don't believe this skirt
will ever be fit to wear again. I know I shall feel like a pickled
herring if I put it on!"
It was not at all an easy matter for Miss Aubrey to choose a suitable
subject for a large class. The girls were at different stages of
ability, and the beginners must not be sacrificed to the cleverer few.
While Katrine, Gladwin, and perhaps Diana could manage a sketch of
trees, hayfield, or reedy river, the others demanded something more
palpable in the way of drawing. A cottage, where you could reproduce the
lines of roof, door, windows, and chimney, was far easier than a misty
impression of sky and foliage. But where there were cottages there were
nearly always children to stand and stare, so again Miss Aubrey found
herself in a difficulty. She solved it by taking her class to sketch a
picturesque, tumble-down little farm, about a mile and a half away from
Heathwell, where, for a marvel, not even a solitary specimen of
childhood resided.
The mistress of the place was an attraction in herself. She had
established a considerable reputation in the neighbourhood as a herb
doctor, preparing various nauseous and ill-smelling brews for sick cows
or horses, or for human sprained ankles, bad legs, toothaches,
headaches, or other ailments. She charmed warts and cured agues, and was
even held by many to be somewhat of a witch. She was credited with the
evil eye, and awestruck neighbours told dark tales of terrible
misfortunes having befallen those who were unfortunate or rash enough to
cross her will. As it is rare in this twentieth century to meet anybody
with even the shadow of a reputation for the black arts, the girls were
thrilled at the accounts they heard, and much disappointed that the old
dame never vouchsafed them an exhibition of her talents.
One day she invited them to enter, and they persuaded her to explain to
them the various treasures that adorned her parlour. Certainly the
collection was unique. Two stuffed cocks stood on the window seat, each
covered with an antimacassar, whether to preserve them, or merely to
display the crochet work of which an example adorned every chair, it was
impossible to decide; while a third chanticleer on the mantelpiece was
generally used as a stand for the good woman's best bonnet. They had no
doubt been fine birds in their time, and had won never-to-be-forgotten
prizes at a local show, but their present value as ornaments was a
matter of opinion. A marvellous sampler representing the Tabernacle in
the Wilderness hung over the sideboard; carefully worked flames were
depicted rising from the altar, and two cherubim with black beads for
eyes and white Berlin-wool wings hovered at either corner, a few sizes
too large for the building. On the mantelpiece lay two extraordinary
objects which the girls at first took to be shells, but as they
corresponded with no known specimen of conchology, inquiries were made.
"Ah, well!" said the old woman, taking them down tenderly. "These are my
poor Richard's heels, the only thing I have left of him now. They came
off all in a piece like that, when he was peeling after the scarlet
fever. Indeed, I've always kept them to remember him by. They're the
best weather-glass I have. I can generally tell by them when it's going
to rain."
Thirty years--so Miss Aubrey hastened to ascertain--had passed since the
memorable illness, therefore they might reasonably hope that no germs
yet lingered in the relics; but they shuddered to think of the infection
which must surely have been spread in the earlier days, when these
treasures were examined and handled by curious neighbours.
An old illustrated Bible, with the date 1807, containing many crude
woodcuts, occupied the little round table under the window. Mrs. Jones
declared she never did anything without consulting it; and the girls
were just going to express appreciation of her pious attention to
Scripture, when she explained that her method was to shut her eyes, and
opening the book at random, to insert the door key, and close it again.
It had then to be turned over seven times, and whatever text the key
pointed to, was sure to be appropriate. Once, so she declared, she had
applied to it for advice as to whether to go to law with a farmer who
had encroached upon her plot of land. She had struck the words: "Him
will I destroy", and being thus encouraged to pursue her suit, she had
won her case in triumph.
"Indeed, it's always right," she said, putting it carefully back on its
wool-work mat. "I call it my conjuring book, and I wouldn't part with it
for anything you could offer me."
* * * * *
"One gets odd peeps at life in the course of one's painting adventures,"
said Miss Aubrey. "An artist has the opportunity of becoming a good
student of human nature. Sketching somehow brings one into touch with
people in a way which no other hobby can emulate. I have had many funny
experiences since I first took up the brush."
"Mrs. Jones beats even Granny Blundell at queerness," decided the girls.
One afternoon, as a very special treat, Miss Aubrey decided to take her
three best pupils with her on an expedition by river to Chistleton. The
landlord of the "Dragon Inn" owned a boat, and would row them there and
back, waiting several hours for them in the town, while they saw the
sights. They were to start after an early lunch, and have tea at a cafe
in Chistleton. Katrine, Diana, and Gladwin were the chosen ones, and
their luck was the envy of the rest of the sketching class, who implored
to be included also. Miss Aubrey, however, stuck to her original plan.
She could not take more than three girls in the boat, and told the
others they must be content to wait until some future occasion. There
was much to be seen in the old town; the walls were still extant, and
two of the ancient gateways remained; the almshouses were show places,
and the castle was the glory of the neighbourhood. Miss Aubrey wished to
encourage the girls in rapid sketching, and made them take quick pencil
impressions of all the principal sights. She had refused to allow them
to bring cameras.
"People are too ready to make snapshots nowadays," was her verdict.
"They are putting photography in the place of drawing. I grant that your
kodaks will give a perfectly accurate picture, but a photo can never
have the artistic merit of a sketch. In my mind it corresponds to a
piece played on the pianola; it is correct, but has no individuality.
Look at some of the pencil sketches of the great masters: how beautiful
is the touch, and how much is conveyed in a few lines! Nothing gives a
better art training than the habit of continually jotting down every
pretty bit you may see. Hand and brain learn to work together, and you
begin to get that facility with your pencil which nothing but long
practice can give you."
Miss Aubrey's own drawings were delightful; the girls watched with
admiration as her clever fingers in a few minutes transferred some
picturesque corner to paper. They tried their best to emulate her, and
filled several pages of their sketch-books with quite praiseworthy
attempts. At the castle especially they secured some charming little
subjects. It was a grand old Norman building, half in ruins, with
ivy-clad towers, grass-grown courtyard, and the remains of a moat. The
guard-room with its vaulted roof, the oratory with its rose window, and
the banqueting-hall were almost intact, and a winding staircase led to a
pathway round the battlements. The girls wandered about, drawing first
one bit and then another, going frequently to Miss Aubrey for good
advice. They were pleased with their efforts, which, as well as being
good practice, would make delightful reminiscences of the place. It was
perhaps a weakness on their part to purchase picture post-cards of the
castle; but then, as they elaborately explained to Miss Aubrey, they
only bought them to send away to friends, not to shirk sketching on
their own account.
Katrine, always on the look-out for antiquities, listened to the voice
of an old post-card vendor of guileless and respectable appearance, who
mysteriously intimated that for a consideration he would transfer from
his pocket to hers a few broken tiles out of the oratory, the removal of
such keepsakes by the general public being strictly forbidden. She
yielded to the temptation, pressed a shilling into his ready hand, and
pocketed the fragments. She brought them in great triumph and secrecy to
show to Miss Aubrey.
"It's lovely to have some real old pieces!" she exclaimed ecstatically.
"These will go with some Roman tiles that I have at home. I shall get a
museum together in course of time! I had to give the old chap some
backsheesh, but I think he deserved it."
"Let me look," said Miss Aubrey, examining the treasures. "My dear girl,
I'm grieved to blight your hopes, but I should certainly like to know
how one of these antique crocks has the Doulton mark on the back of it!"
"It hasn't!" gasped Katrine.
"There it is, most unmistakably. I'm sorry to undeceive you, but I'm
afraid it's no more mediaeval than I am."
"Oh, the craft of the old villain!" mourned Katrine. "I wonder how often
he's tried this trick on innocent and unsuspecting visitors? If I could
only catch him, I'd upbraid him, and demand my money back!"
"You wouldn't get it, you silly child! He has conveniently vanished, and
is perhaps boasting of his cleverness to a circle of envious and
admiring friends. You must be very cautious if you want to go in for
collecting; false antiquities are, unfortunately, more common than
genuine ones, and clever rogues are always ready to lay traps for the
unwary."
After having tea at a cafe, Miss Aubrey and the girls made their way to
the wharf, and found Stephen Peters, the landlord of the "Dragon", ready
at the trysting-place. In excellent spirits they took their seats,
anticipating with much pleasure their return trip on the river. "They
hadna' gane a mile, a mile", as the ballad says, before they began to
wish themselves back on dry land. Miss Aubrey had not particularly
noticed their boatman's condition before they started; but they had not
rowed far when she made the unpleasant discovery that he was hardly fit
to handle the oars. He was in a jovial mood, and insisted upon bursting
into snatches of song.
"He was perfectly sober coming from Heathwell; he must have spent the
whole afternoon at the inn on the wharf while he was waiting for us,"
thought poor Miss Aubrey, trying to conceal her fears from her pupils.
The girls were very naturally alarmed, for Mr. Peters was rowing in a
particularly crooked fashion, continually bumping into the banks, and
running into clumps of overhanging willows, perhaps under a mistaken
impression that he was arriving at his own landing-place.
"I believe the rudder's wrong," said Diana, who had an elementary
knowledge of matters nautical, and had undertaken to steer. "He must
have partly unshipped it before we left Chistleton. It's not the
slightest use. I wish we hadn't come!"
The landlord's rowdy hilarity was shortlived, and rapidly turned to
pessimism; he now shipped his oars, and regarded his frightened
passengers with a baneful glance.
"It will be best if I send us all to the bottom!" he announced.
"Oh, no! Come, come, Mr. Peters, I'm sure you won't do that!" said Miss
Aubrey persuasively, hoping to change the tenor of his mood again.
"I'll do anything to oblige a lady," was the maudlin response; after
which, apparently finding the situation too much for his failing senses,
he lay down comfortably in the bottom of the boat, and fell asleep. It
was safer to have him thus out of harm's way; but the little party was
in an extremely awkward strait. None of them, except Diana, had the
slightest experience of rowing, and the rudder was undoubtedly half
unshipped. Katrine and Diana each took an oar, but their efforts were of
a most amateur description, and they could make little progress against
the current. Poor Miss Aubrey sat very white and quiet in the stern,
giving what directions she could, though she was practically as
helpless as her pupils. She reproached herself keenly for having exposed
them to such danger. What was their joy, on rounding a bend of the
river, to see an easel on the bank, and the familiar figure of Mr.
Freeman working at a canvas. They all halloed loudly to him for help,
and he soon grasped the situation.
"Can you manage to turn her, and paddle to the bank?" he shouted. "Be
careful! That's right--never mind where she lands, just get her ashore
anyhow!"
The boat, after wobbling round in a rather unsteady fashion, finally ran
aground in a bed of reeds. By taking off his shoes and stockings, Mr.
Freeman contrived to wade out and board her, much to everyone's relief.
"We thought we should never get home safely," said Miss Aubrey. "Peters
has been dreadful! He threatened to send us to the bottom! We were
thankful when he collapsed."
"The drunken sot!" exclaimed Mr. Freeman, looking with disgust at the
prostrate figure. "He ought to have his licence withdrawn! He has no
right to take out pleasure-boats. We'll leave him where he is, and I'll
row you back to Heathwell. I'll fetch my sketching traps. Oh no, please
don't apologize! I couldn't think of doing otherwise. I'll come again to
my subject to-morrow; I'm in no hurry to finish it."
"It has been a most horrible experience," said Miss Aubrey to the girls,
when they were at last back in safety at Heathwell. "I hope Stephen
Peters will be thoroughly ashamed of himself when he recovers. I shall
never hire his boat again, and shall warn other people not to trust
him. I certainly thought we were going to be upset. If we hadn't
fortunately come across Mr. Freeman, I don't know what might have
happened."
"The Fairy Prince always turns up at the right moment!" whispered Diana
to Gladwin, causing that damsel serious inconvenience, for she wished to
explode, but was obliged to suppress such ill-timed mirth in the
presence of the mistress.