e old man turned to Nathaniel, "Is
this the gentleman who painted your willows?"

"Oh, aye!" cried Nathaniel.

The Frenchman dismounted near them with sparkling glances of inquiry.
"See, LeMaury, this is young Master Everett, whom you have bewitched with
your paint-pots. He would fain be an artist--_de gustibus_--! Perhaps you
have in him an apprentice for your return to France."

The artist looked sharply at Nathaniel. "Eh, so? Can young master draw?
Doth he know aught of _chiaroscuro_?"

Nathaniel blushed at his ignorance and looked timidly at his protector.

"Nay, he knows naught of your painter's gibberish. Give him a crayon and a
bit of white bark and see can he make my picture. I'll lean my head back
and fold my hands to sleep."

In the long sunny quiet that followed, the old man really slipped away
into a light doze, from which he was awakened by a loud shout from
LeMaury. The Frenchman had sprung upon Nathaniel and was kissing his
cheeks, which were now crimson with excitement. "Oh, it is Giotto come
back again. He shall be anything--Watteau."

Nathaniel broke away and ran toward the old man, his eyes blazing with
hope.

"What does he mean?" he demanded.

"He means that you're to be a painter and naught else, though how a man
can choose to daub paint when there are swords to be carried--well, well,"
he pulled himself painfully to his feet, wincing at gouty twinges, "I will
go and see your father about--"

"_Mais, Colonel Hall, dites_! How can I arrange not to lose this pearl
among artists?"

At the name, for he had not understood the title before, pronounced as it
was in French, the boy fell back in horrified recognition. "Oh! you are
Colonel Gideon Hall!"

"Aye, lad, who else?" The old soldier swung himself up to the saddle,
groaning, "Oh, damn that wet ground! I fear I cannot sit the nag home."

"But then you are the enemy of God--the chosen one of Beelzebub----"

"Do they call me _that_ in polite and pious Hillsboro?"

The Frenchman broke in, impatient of this incomprehensible talk. "See,
boy, you--Everett--I go back to France now soon. I lie next Friday night
at Woodburn. If you come to me there we will go together to France--to
Paris--you will be the great artist----"

He was silenced by a gesture from the colonel, who now sat very straight
on his horse and beckoned to Nathaniel. The boy came timorously. "You have
heard lies about me, Everett. Be man enough to trust your own heart." He
b