worth thirty-five francs. And then my
reputation— lost! gone for ever!"

He shook the ladder violently to make his
persecutor descend. But the latter,
undisturbed either by that or by the presence of a
crowd of villagers, attracted by the dispute,
continued mercilessly to blot out the glowing
landscape. Then, using merely the point
of his finger and the handle of a brush, he
sketched, in masterly outline, three Flemish
boors, with beer-glasses in their hands, drinking
to the rising sun; which appeared above
the horizon, dispersing the gloom of a greyish
morning sky. One of the faces presented
a, strong and laughable caricature of the
supplanted sign-painter. The spectators at
first were greatly disposed to take part
with their countryman against the intrusive
stranger. What right had he to interfere?
There was no end to the impudence of these
foreigners.

As, however, they watched and grumbled,
the grumbling gradually ceased and was
turned into a murmur of approbation when
the design became apparent. The owner of
the inn was the first to cry " Bravo! " and
even Gerard Douw's cousin nine times
removed, felt his fury calming down into
admiration.

"Oh! " he exclaimed, " you belong to the
craft, honest man, and there's no use in
denying it. Yes, yes," he continued, laughing,
as he turned towards his neighbours, " this is
a French sign-painter, who wishes to have
a jest with me. Well, I must frankly say he
knows what he is about."

The old man was about to descend from
the ladder, when a gentleman, riding a
beautiful English horse, made his way through
the crowd.

"That painting is mine! " he exclaimed in
French, but with a foreign accent. " I will
give a hundred guineas for it!"

"Another madman! " exclaimed the native
genius. " Hang me, but all these foreigners
are mad!"

"What do you mean, Monsieur? " said the
innkeeper, uncommonly interested.

"What I say—I will give one hundred
guineas for that painting," answered the
young Englishman, getting off his horse.

"That picture is not to be sold," said the
sign-painter, with an air of as much pride as
if it had been his own work.

"No," quoth mine host, " for it is already
sold, and even partly paid for in advance.
However, if Monsieur wishes to come to an
arrangement about it, it is with me that he
must treat."

"Not at all, not at all," rejoined the Flemish
painter of signs, " it belongs to me. My
fellow-artist here gave me a little help out
of friendship; but the picture is my lawful
property, and I am at liberty to sell it to any
one I please."

"What roguery! " exclaimed the
innkeeper. " My Rising Sun is my property;

fastened on the wall of my house. How can
it belong to anybody else. Isn't it painted on
my boards. No one but myself has the
smallest right to it."

"I'll summon you before the magistrate,"
cried he who had not painted the sign.

"I'll prosecute you for breach of covenant,"
retorted the innkeeper who had half paid
for it.

"One moment! " interposed another energetic
voice; that of the interloper, "it seems
to me that I ought to have some little vote
in this business."

"Quite right, brother," answered the
painter. " Instead of disputing on the
public road, let us go into Master Martzen's
house, and arrange the matter amicably over
a bottle or two of beer."

To this all parties agreed, but I am sorry
to say they agreed in nothing else; for within
doors, the dispute was carried on with
deafening confusion and energy. The Flemings
contended for the possession of the painting,
and the Englishman repeated his offer to cover
it with gold.

"But suppose that I don't choose to have
it sold? " said its real author.

"Oh, my dear Monsieur! " said the innkeeper,
"I am certain you would not wish to
deprive an honest, poor man, who can scarcely
make both ends meet, of this windfall. Why,
it would just enable me to lay in a good stock
of wine and beer."

"Don't believe him, brother," cried the
painter, " he is an old miser. I am the father
of a family; and being a painter, you ought
to help a brother artist, and give me the
preference. Besides, I am ready to share the
money with you."

"He! " said Master Martzen. " Why, he's
an old spendthrift, who has no money left to
give his daughter as a marriage portion,
because he spends all he gets on himself."

"No such thing: my Susette is betrothed to
an honest young French cabinet-maker; who,
poor as she is, will marry her next September."

"A daughter to portion! " exclaimed the
stranger artist; " that quite alters the case.
I am content that the picture should be
sold for a marriage portion. I leave it
to our English friend's generosity to fix the
sum."

"I have already offered," replied the best
bidder, "one hundred guineas for the sketch
just as it is: I will gladly give two hundred
for it, if the painter will consent to sign it in
the corner with two words."

"What words? " exclaimed all the
disputants at once.

The Englishman replied,

"PIERRE DAVID."

The whole party were quiet enough now;
for they were struck dumb with astonishment.
The sign-painter held his breath, glared with
his eyes, frantically clasped his hands together,
and fell down on his knees before the great
French painter.