“It was in keeping with this that the man should enter the pulpit of the church of his ancestors, and it was due very largely, no doubt, to the same ancestral influence that he became what the world calls a successful minister of the gospel. But Christianity to him was but little more than culture, and his place in the church merely an opportunity to add to the honor of his name. Soon after leaving the seminary, he married. The crowning moment of his life was when his first born—a boy—was laid in his arms. The second child was a girl; there were no more. “For ten years before her death the wife was an invalid. The little girl, too, was never strong, and six months after they buried the mother the daughter was laid beside her. “You, sir, can understand how the father lavished every care upon his son. The first offspring of the parents’ love, the sole survivor of his home, and the last to bear the name of a family centuries old, he was the only hope of the proud man’s ambition. “The boy was a beautiful child, a delicate, sensitive soul in a body of uncommon physical grace and strength, and the proud father loved to think of him as the flower of long ages of culture and refinement. The minister, himself, jealously educated his son, and the two grew to be friends, sir, constant companions. This, also, _you_ will understand—you and your boy. But with all this the young man did not follow his father in choosing his profession. He—he became an artist.” Old Matt started from his seat. Aunt Mollie uttered an exclamation. But the shepherd, without pausing, continued: “When his schooling was completed the boy came into the Ozarks one summer to spend the season painting. The man had expected to go with his son. For months they had planned the trip together, but at last something prevented, and the father could not go—no, he could not go—” The speaker’s voice broke; the big mountaineer was breathing hard; Aunt Mollie was crying. Presently Mr. Howitt went on. “When the young artist returned to his father, among many sketches of the mountains, he brought one painting that received instant recognition. The people stood before it in crowds when it was exhibited in the art gallery; the papers were extravagant in their praise; the artist became famous; and wealthy patrons came to his studio to sit for their portraits. The picture was of a beautiful girl, standing by a spring, holding out a dripping cup of water.” At this a wild oath burst from the giant. Springing to his feet, he started toward the speaker. Aunt Mollie screamed, “Grant, oh Grant! Think what Dad has done for us.” The mountaineer paused. “Mr. Matthews,” said the shepherd, in trembling tones, “for my sake, will you not hear me to the end? for my sake?” The big man dropped back heavily into his chair. “Go on,” he said. But his voice was as the growl of a beast.