File:Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 109 June to November 1904 (1904) (14759782866).jpg

Identifier: harpersnew0109various (find matches)
Title: Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 109 June to November 1904
Year: 1904 (1900s)
Authors: various
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Publisher: New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers
Contributing Library: Brigham Young University-Idaho, David O. McKay Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Brigham Young University-Idaho

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pods from her apron into thebasket at her side. I suppose Ive doneit now. Ive spoiled the picture. No, returned Jerome, thoughtfully, you havent spoiled the picture. ReallyI began it with a very definite concep-tion of what I was going to do. It willbe done in that way or not at all. Youre very kind, said Mary, hum-bly. I didnt mean to act like this. No,—he spoke out of a maze of re-flection, not looking at her. You havean idea hes under the microscope withme. It makes you nervous. She nodded, and then caught her-self up. Theres nothing you mightnt see,she said, proudly, ignoring her previousoutburst. You or anybody else, evenwith a microscope. No, of course not. Only youd saymicroscopes arent fair. Well, perhapstheyre not. And portrait-painting is avery simple matter. Its not the blackart. But if I go on with this, you areto let me do it in my own way. Yourenot to look at it. Not even when youre not at work ? Not once, morning, noon, or night,till I invite you to. You were always a
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Half-tone plate engraved by Frank E. Pettit OH I SAID SHE, DO YOU THINK I DONT KNOW WHAT YOUVE DONE? THE WIZARDS TOUCH. 261 good fellow, Mary. Youll keep yourword. No, I wont look at it, said Mary. Thereafter she stayed away from thebarn, not only when he was painting,but at other times, and Wilmer missedher. He worked very fast, and made hisplans for sailing, and Aunt Celia loudlybemoaned his stinginess in cutting shortthe summer. One day, after breakfast,he sought out Mary again in the garden.She was snipping Coreopsis for the din-ner table, but she did it absently, andJerome noted the heaviness of her eyes. Whats the trouble ? he asked, ab-ruptly, and she was shaken out of herlate constraint. She looked up at himwith a piteous smile. Nothing much, she said. Itdoesnt matter. I suppose its fate. Hehas written his letter. Marshby? You knew.he got his appointment? No; I saw something had him by theheels, but hes been still as a fish. It came three days ago. He has de-cided not to take

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