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All the casements of the millhouse were lighted,and every now and then the notes of the flute cameto him.
The tears fell down his cheeks, for he was but achild, yet he smiled, for he said to himself,
in the future. He stayed there until all was quitestill and dark, then he and Patruski went within
and slept together, long and deeply, side by side.Now he had a secret which only Patruski knew.
There was a little outhouse to the hut, which noone entered but himself, a dreary place,
but with abundant clear light from the north. Herehe had fashioned himself rudely an easel in
rough lumber, and here on a great grey sea ofstretched paper he had given shape to one of the
innumerable fancies which possessed his brain. Noone had ever taught him anything, colours he had
no means to buy, he had gone without bread many atime to procure even the few rude vehicles that
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he had here, and it was only in black or whitethat he could fashion the things he saw.
This great figure which he had drawn here in chalkwas only an old man sitting on a fallen tree,
only that. He had seen old Michel the woodmansitting so at evening many a time.
He had never had a soul to tell him of outline orperspective, of anatomy or of shadow,
and yet he had given all the weary, worn-out age,all the sad, quiet patience, all the rugged,
careworn pathos of his original, and given them sothat the old lonely figure was a poem,
sitting there, meditative and alone, on the deadtree, with the darkness of the
descending night behind him. It was rude, ofcourse, in a way, and had many faults,
no doubt, and yet it was real, true in nature,true in art, and very mournful,
and in a manner beautiful. Patruski had lain quietcountless hours watching its gradual
creation after the labour of each day was done,and he knew that Nello had a hope,
vain and wild perhaps, but strongly cherished, ofsending this great drawing to compete for a
prize of two hundred francs a year which it wasannounced in Antwerp would be open to every lad
of talent, scholar or peasant, under eighteen, whowould attempt to win it with some unaided
work of chalk or pencil. Three of the foremostartists in the town of Rubens were to be the
judges and elect the victor according to hismerits. All the spring and summer and autumn
Nello had been at work upon this treasure, which,if triumphant, would build him his first step
toward independence and the mysteries of the artwhich he blindly, ignorantly and yet passionately
adored. He said nothing to any one, hisgrandfather would not have understood, and
little Alois was lost to him. Only to Patruski hetold all, and whispered, Rubens would give it me,
I think, if he knew. Patruski thought so too, forhe knew that Rubens had loved dogs or he had
never painted them with such exquisite fidelity,and men who loved dogs were, as Patruski knew,
always pitiful. The drawings were to go in on thefirst day of December, and the decision be
given on the twenty-fourth, so that he who shouldwin might rejoice with all his people at the
Christmas season. In the twilight of a bitter wintry day, and with a beating heart, now quick
with hope, now faint with fear, Nello placed thegreat picture on his little green milk cart,
and took it, with the help of Patruski, into thetown and there left it, as enjoined, at the
doors of a public building. Perhaps it is worthnothing at all. How could I tell? He thought,
with a heart-sickness of a great timidity. Nowthat he had left it there, it seemed to him so
hazardous, so vain, so foolish, to dream that he,a little lad with bare feet, who barely knew his
letters, could do anything at which greatpainters, real artists, could ever deign to look.
Yet he took heart as he went by the cathedral, thelordly form of Rubens seemed to rise from the
fog and the darkness, and to loom in its magnificence before him, whilst the lips,
with their kindly smile, seemed to him to murmur,Nay, have courage. It was not by a weak heart and
by faint fears that I wrote my name for all timeupon Antwerp. Nello ran home through the cold
night, comforted. He had done his best, the restmust be as God willed, he thought, in thatinnocent,
unquestioning faith which had been taught him inthe little grey chapel among the willows and the
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poplar trees. The winter was very sharp already.That night, after they reached the hut, snow fell,
and fell for very many days after that, so thatthe paths and the divisions in the fields were all
obliterated, and all the smaller streams werefrozen over, and the cold was intense upon the
plains. Then, indeed, it became hard work to goround for the milk while the world was all dark,
and carry it through the darkness to the silenttown. Hard work, especially for Patruski,
for the passage of the years, that were onlybringing Nello a stronger youth, were bringing
him old age, and his joints were stiff and hisbones ached often. But he would never give up his
share of the labour. Nello would fain have sparedhim and drawn the card himself, but Patruski would
not allow it. All he would ever permit or acceptwas the help of a thrust from behind to the truck
as it lumbered along through the ice ruts. Patruski had lived in harness, and he was proud of it.
He suffered a great deal sometimes from frost, andthe terrible roads, and the rheumatic pains of
his limbs, but he only drew his breath hard andbent his stout neck, and trod onward with steady
patience.
Rest thee at home, Patruski, it is time thou didstrest, and I can quite well push in the
cart by myself, urged Nello many a morning, butPatruski, who understood him aright, would no
more have consented to stay at home than a veteransoldier to shirk when the charge was sounding,
and every day he would rise and place himself inhis shafts, and plod along over the snow
through the fields that his four round feet hadleft their print upon so many, many years.
One must never rest till one dies, thought Patruski, and sometimes it seemed to him that
that time of rest for him was not very far off.His sight was less clear than it had been,
and it gave him pain to rise after the night'ssleep, though he would never lie a moment in his
straw when once the bell of the chapel tollingfive let him know that the daybreak of labour had
begun.
My poor Patruski, we shall soon lie quiettogether, you and I, said old Jehan Doss,
stretching out to stroke the head of Patruski withthe old withered hand which had always
shared with him its one poor crust of bread, andthe hearts of the old man and the old dog
ached together with one thought, when they weregone, who would care for their darling?
One afternoon, as they came back from Antwerp overthe snow, which had become hard and smooth
as marble over all the Flemish plains, they founddropped in the road a pretty little puppet,
a tambourine player, all scarlet and gold, aboutsix inches high, and, unlike greater
personages when fortune lets them drop, quite unspoiled and unhurt by its fall. It was a pretty
toy. Nello tried to find its owner, and, failing,thought that it was just the thing to please
Alois. It was quite night when he passed the mill-house, he knew the little window of her
room. It could be no harm, he thought, if he gaveher his little piece of treasure-trove,
they had been playfellows so long. There was ashed with a sloping roof beneath her casement,
he climbed it and tapped softly at the lattice,there was a little light within. The child opened
it and looked out half-frightened. Nello put thetambourine player into her hands.
Here is a doll I found in the snow, Alois. Takeit, he whispered, take it, and God bless thee,
dear. He slid down from the shed-roof before shehad time to thank him,
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and ran off through the darkness. That night therewas a fire at the mill. Outbuildings and
much corn were destroyed, although the mill itselfand the dwelling-house were unharmed.
All the village was out in terror, and enginescame tearing through the snow from Antwerp.
The miller was insured, and would lose nothing,nevertheless, he was in furious wrath,
and declared aloud that the fire was due to noaccident, but to some foul intent. Nello,
awakened from his sleep, ran to help with therest, Boz Koges thrust him angrily aside.
Thou wert lawyering here after dark, he saidroughly. I believe, on my soul, that thou dost
know more of the fire than any one. Nello heardhim in silence, stupefied, not supposing that
any one could say such things except in jest, andnot comprehending how any one could pass a jest
at such a time. Nevertheless, the miller said thebrutal thing openly to many of his neighbours in
the day that followed, and though no seriouscharge was ever preferred against the lad,
it got brooded about that Nello had been seen inthe millyard after dark on some unspoken errand,
and that he bore Boz Koges a grudge for forbiddinghis intercourse with little Alois,
and so the hamlet, which followed the sayings ofits richest landowner Cervalie,
and whose families all hoped to secure the richesof Alois in some future time for their sons,
took the hint to give grave looks and cold wordsto old Jehan Das's grandson.
No one said anything to him openly, but all thevillage agreed together to humour the
miller's prejudice, and at the cottages and farmswhere Nello and Patrusky called every morning for
the milk for Antwerp, downcast glances and briefphrases replaced to them the broad smiles and
cheerful greetings to which they had been alwaysused. No one really credited the miller's
absurd suspicion, nor the outrageous accusationsborne of them, but the people were all very poor
and very ignorant, and the one rich man of theplace had pronounced against him. Nello,
in his innocence and his friendlessness, had nostrength to stem the popular tide.
Thou art very cruel to the lad, the miller's wifedared to say, weeping, to her lord. Sure he is
an innocent lad and a faithful, and would neverdream of any such wickedness, however sore his
heart might be. But Boz Koj is being an obstinateman, having once said a thing held to it doggedly,
though in his innermost soul he knew well theinjustice that he was committing. Meanwhile,
Nello endured the injury done against him with acertain proud patience that disdained to complain,
he only gave way a little when he was quite alonewith old Patrusky. Besides, he thought,
if it should win. They will be sorry then,perhaps. Still, to a boy not quite sixteen,
and who had dwelt in one little world all hisshort life, and in his childhood had been caressed
and applauded on all sides, it was a hard trial tohave the whole of that little world turn
against him for naught. Especially hard in thatbleak, snowbound, famine-stricken wintertime,
when the only light and warmth there could befound abode beside the village hearths and
in the kindly greetings of neighbours. In thewintertime all drew nearer to each other,
all to all, except to Nello and Patrusky, withwhom none now would have anything to do,
and who were left to fare as they might with theold paralysed, bed-ridden man in the little cabin,
whose fire was often low, and whose board wasoften without bread, for there was a buyer from
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Antwerp who had taken to drive his mule in of aday for the milk of the various dairies, and there
were only three or four of the people who hadrefused his terms of purchase and remainedfaithful
to the little green cart. So that the burden whichPatrusky drew had become very light,
and the santine pieces in Nello's pouch hadbecome, alas! very small likewise.
The dog would stop, as usual, at all the familiargates, which were now closed to him,
and look up at them with wistful, mute appeal, andit cost the neighbours a pang to shut their
doors and their hearts, and let Patrusky draw hiscart on again, empty. Nevertheless, they did it,
for they desired to please Boz Koges. Noël wasclose at hand. The weather was very wild and cold.
The snow was six feet deep, and the ice was firmenough to bear oxen and men upon it everywhere.
At this season the little village was always gayand cheerful. At the poorest dwelling there
were possets and cakes, joking and dancing, sugared saints and gilded jazoo. The merry
Flemish bells jingled everywhere on the horses,everywhere within doors some well-filled soup
pots sang and smoked over the stove, andeverywhere over the snow without laughing
maidens pattered in bright kerchiefs and stout kirtles, going to and from the mass.
Only in the little hut it was very dark and verycold.
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