The amateur artist was painting sunset, red with blue streaks and green dots.
The old rustic, at a respectful distance, was watching.
"Ah," said the artist looking up suddenly, "perhaps to you, too, Nature has opened her sky picture page by page! Have you seen the lambent flame of dawn leaping across the livid east; the red-stained, sulphurous islets floating in the lake of fire in the west; the ragged clouds at midnight, black as a raven's wing, blotting out the shuddering moon?"
"No," replied the rustic, "not since I give up drink."
