Part 22 (1/2)
”_You_, Cousin Milly. You've no notion what a splendid couple you and Mr Barret look--stuck up so picturesquely on that little mound, with its rich foreground of bracken, and the grey rock beside you, and the peep through the bushes, with Big Ben for a background; and the easel, too--so suggestive! There, now, I'm ready. By the way, I might take you as a pair of lovers!”
Poor Milly became scarlet, and suddenly devoted herself to the _lusus naturae_! Barret took refuge in a loud laugh, and then said:
”Really, one would suppose that you were a professional, Archie; you order your sitters about with such self-satisfied presumption.”
”Yes, they always do that,” said Milly, recovering herself, and looking calmly up from the cow--which now resembled a megatherium--”but you must remember, Cousin Archie, that I am a _painter_, and therefore understand about att.i.tudes, and all that, much better than a mere photographer.
So, if I condescend to sit, you must take your orders from _me_!”
”Fire away then with your orders,” cried the impatient amateur.
”See, sir, I will sit thus--as if painting,” said Milly, who was desperately anxious to have it over, lest Archie should make some awkward proposition. ”Mr Barret will stand behind me, looking earnestly at the picture--”
”Admiringly,” interposed Barret.
”Not so--earnestly, as if getting a lesson,” said Milly, with a teacher's severity; ”and Flo will sit thus, at my feet, taking care (hold it, dear,) of my palette.”
”More likely to make a mess of it,” said Junkie.
”Now, are you ready? Steady! Don't budge a finger,” cried Archie, removing the little leather cap.
In her uncertainty as to which of her fingers she was not to budge, Flo nervously moved them all.
”You're movin', Flo!” whispered Junkie.
”No, I'm not,” said Flo, looking round indignantly.
”There, I knew you couldn't hold your tongue, Junkie,” cried the photographer, hastily replacing the cap. ”However, I think I had it done before she moved.”
”And look--you've got the n.i.g.g.e.r in!” cried Junkie, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the black doll, which had been lying un.o.bserved on its owner's knee all the time.
”Never mind, that'll do no harm. Now, then, soldiers, form up, an'
quick march,” said Archie, closing up his apparatus. ”We have got plenty of work before us, and no time to waste.”
Obedient to this rather inaccurately given word of command, Archie's troops fell into line, and, with a whooping farewell, continued their march up the glen.
During the remainder of that beautiful afternoon, the artist and pupil continued at their ”fascinating” work. Shall we take advantage of our knowledge to lift the curtain, and tell in detail how Milly introduced a few more megatheriums into her painting, and violated nearly all the rules of perspective, to say nothing of colour and chiaro-oscuro? Shall we reveal the mult.i.tude of absurd remarks made by the pupil, in his wild attempts at criticism of an art, about which he knew next to nothing?
No; it would be unwarrantable--base! Merely remarking that painter and pupil were exceedingly happy, and that they made no advance whatever in the art of painting, we turn to another scene in the neighbourhood of Kinlossie House.
It was a wide gra.s.s-field from which the hayc.o.c.ks had recently been removed, leaving it bare and uninteresting. Nevertheless, there were two points of interest in that field which merit special attention. One was a small black bull, with magnificent horns, the s.h.a.ggiest of coats, and the wickedest of eyes. The other was our friend MacRummle, taking a short cut through the field, with a basket on his back, a rod in one hand, and an umbrella in the other.
We may at once account for the strange presence of the latter article, by explaining that, on the day before--which was rainy--the laird, had with an umbrella, accompanied his friend to his first pool in the river, at which point their roads diverged; that he had stayed to see MacRummle make his first two or three casts, during which time the sky cleared, inducing the laird to close his umbrella, and lean it against the bank, after which he went away and forgot it. Returning home the next day our angler found and took charge of it.
That he had been successful that day was made plain, not only by the extra stoop forward, which was rendered necessary by the weight of his basket, and the beaming satisfaction on his face, but by the protruding tail of a grilse which was too large to find room for the whole of itself, inside.
”You're a lucky man to-day, d.i.c.k,” murmured the enthusiastic angler to himself, as he jogged across the field.
Had he known what was in store for him, however, he would have arrived at a very different estimate of his fortunes!
The field, as we have said, was a large one. MacRummle had reached the centre of it when the black bull, standing beside the wall at its most distant corner, seemed to feel resentment at this trespa.s.s on its domain.