l, sat a man, a young
man! No little wagon put its seal upon his calling, but the broad hat,
set well back from the handsome face, had a distant but fatal mark of
the artist colony upon it. The stranger had a board firmly placed upon
his knees, and even as he gazed at Janet with a devouring intensity he
was working rapidly with a long, slim brush.

"What are you doing?" The question was torn from the girl without reason
or forethought.

"Painting a picture!" The voice was solemn, almost to absurdity.

"A picture of what?" Outraged imagination arose to the fore.

"The Spirit of the Dunes. Keep still a minute; then I'll let you see it
if you want to."

"Yes: I do want to." Dignity of a new order was born within Janet at
that instant.

This probably was a lesser being than the wagon-loaded geniuses. Their
work was not unknown to the girl nor had it escaped her scorn. If this
meaner devotee of art had mangled her into a hideous likeness of
herself, she would resent it, and with reason. Slowly she arose and
went up behind the man. What she saw stayed anger and all other emotions
save wonder. Surely the Hills, with all their real color and outline,
were ensnared upon that square of paper! Never was there a truer
reflection of the bay. Janet could almost feel the breeze that swayed
the scrub oaks and wild roses in the picture. But that marvel was the
least. Who, what was that in the soft dimple of the little hill? A being
of grace, of beauty, and of a wildness that was part of the Hills and
wind!

In the final estimate of any picture two artists must bear part, the one
who has wrought and the one who appreciates! These two looked now upon
the exquisite sketch.

"How do you like it?" The man did not turn or raise his eyes, but his
voice brought the quick color to the smooth, brown cheeks.

"Do--do--_I_ look like that?"

"As near as mere man can reproduce you. If I had a magic brush and
heaven's own paint pots, I believe I could have done better. I wish you
had stayed a half hour longer, but thank God, I've at least caught a
hint of you!"

"I--look--like--that!" Amazement thrilled through and through the low
voice.

"You--look--like--that! And I am grateful for the best criticism I
could ask. What's the matter? What in thunder is the matter?"

For Janet had sunk down beside him, hid her head in her folded arms, and
was sobbing as if her heart would break.

"What--in--I say! Miss--Miss--What shall I call you? F