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- Стр. 128/193
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He
shrugged
his
shoulders
.
"
It
happened
that
I
had
a
knack
for
drawing
.
I
got
prizes
for
it
at
school
.
My
poor
mother
was
very
proud
of
my
gift
,
and
she
gave
me
a
box
of
water
-
colours
as
a
present
.
She
showed
my
sketches
to
the
pastor
and
the
doctor
and
the
judge
.
And
they
sent
me
to
Amsterdam
to
try
for
a
scholarship
,
and
I
won
it
.
Poor
soul
,
she
was
so
proud
;
and
though
it
nearly
broke
her
heart
to
part
from
me
,
she
smiled
,
and
would
not
show
me
her
grief
.
She
was
pleased
that
her
son
should
be
an
artist
.
They
pinched
and
saved
so
that
I
should
have
enough
to
live
on
,
and
when
my
first
picture
was
exhibited
they
came
to
Amsterdam
to
see
it
,
my
father
and
mother
and
my
sister
,
and
my
mother
cried
when
she
looked
at
it
.
"
His
kind
eyes
glistened
.
"
And
now
on
every
wall
of
the
old
house
there
is
one
of
my
pictures
in
a
beautiful
gold
frame
.
"
He
glowed
with
happy
pride
.
I
thought
of
those
cold
scenes
of
his
,
with
their
picturesque
peasants
and
cypresses
and
olive
-
trees
.
They
must
look
queer
in
their
garish
frames
on
the
walls
of
the
peasant
house
.
"
The
dear
soul
thought
she
was
doing
a
wonderful
thing
for
me
when
she
made
me
an
artist
,
but
perhaps
,
after
all
,
it
would
have
been
better
for
me
if
my
father
’
s
will
had
prevailed
and
I
were
now
but
an
honest
carpenter
"
"
Now
that
you
know
what
art
can
offer
,
would
you
change
your
life
?
Would
you
have
missed
all
the
delight
it
has
given
you
?
"
"
Art
is
the
greatest
thing
in
the
world
,
"
he
answered
,
after
a
pause
.
He
looked
at
me
for
a
minute
reflectively
;
he
seemed
to
hesitate
;
then
he
said
:
"
Did
you
know
that
I
had
been
to
see
Strickland
?
"
"
You
?
"
