is art. His spirit sang with the joy of receiving the loveliness of
the scene before him, of making it his own, and of giving it forth
again--a literal part of himself. The memories suggested by the stones of
the spring-house foundation and the old carvings on the trees; the
sunlight, falling so softly into the hushed seclusion of the glade, as
through the traceried windows of a church; and the deep organ-tones of the
distant creek; all served to give to the spot the religious atmosphere of
a sanctuary; while the artist's abandonment in his work was little short
of devotion.

It was the third afternoon, when the painter became conscious that he had
been hearing for some time--he could not have said how long--a low-sung
melody--so blending with the organ-tones of the mountain stream that it
seemed to come out of the music of the tumbling waters.

With his brush poised between palette and canvas, the artist
paused,--turning his head to listen,--half inclined to the belief that his
fancy was tricking him. But no; the singer was coming nearer; the melody
was growing more distinct; but still the voice was in perfect harmony with
the deep-toned accompaniment of the distant creek.

Then he saw her. Dressed in soft brown that blended subtly with the green
of the willows, the gray of the alder trunks, the russet of rose and
blackberry-bush, and the umber of the swinging grape-vines--in the
flickering sunshine, the soft changing half-lights, and deep shadows--she
appeared to grow out of the scene itself; even as her low-sung melody grew
out of the organ-sound of the waters.

To get the effect that satisfied him best, the painter had placed his
easel a little back from the grassy, open spot. Seated as he was, on a low
camp-stool, among the bushes, he would not have been easily observed--even
by eyes trained to the quickness of vision that belongs to those reared in
the woods and hills. As the girl drew closer, he saw that she carried a
basket on her arm, and that she was picking the wild blackberries that
grew in such luscious profusion in the rich, well watered ground at the
foot of the sheltering bank. Unconscious of any listener, as she gathered
the fruit of Nature's offering, she sang to the accompaniment of Nature's
music, with the artless freedom of a wild thing unafraid in its native
haunts.

The man kept very still. Presently, when the girl had moved so that he
could not see her, he turned to his canvas as if, again, a