The Amouretta landscape, and other stories

If you search from Greenwich Village to Lawrence Park, and then from Turtle Bay to Chelsea, you will not find in all New York a painter less spoiled by fame than Maurice Price....

As he painted, he smiled often, because many persons, both living and dead, came and ranged themselves beside him, and it was pleasant to be talking with them, on that flowery h...

Mr. Saltonstall looked relieved, triumphant, ashamed. “Yes, I did, at first! And why not, when it was just that ribald portrait, and nothing else, that Wrayne showed me there, i...

Walking respectfully behind this glorious sad young person was a footman who failed to supply the contrast of usefulness to beauty. He was not even carrying the white oblong box...

Naturally, I was nonplussed. Think of it, I, a rising—yes, you might say, an arrived—young sculptor, in Manhattan, and she, a chit of a Chittenden from Missouri! But my chagrin...

By now, quite a little crowd had gathered. One would say, amateurs in _limaçonnerie_! Papa, not knowing in the least whether it was envenomed or otherwise, preferred not to make...

When they reached Falmouth Junction, a railway centre of note, their ways diverged. At the station, Royal bought coffee, sandwiches, and fruit, all of which he shared with the m...

Before descending the slope, he looked up curiously into the sky, to note what birds might be abroad. He remembered the crows he had seen early that morning in his new orchard;...

The day had not lost its freshness when I reached the foot of my hill, and strained my eyes for a glimpse of the disaster. To my surprise, the big barn studio, as far as I could...

Naturally his delight in what he had merely whetted his longing for what he had not. Whenever his birthdays impended, as they continued to do with annoying annual precision, his...

“I don’t really know, but it’s the only name I’ve heard given to it. I never saw any cast of it till yesterday, coming home from my trip West. I had an hour before my train left...

“‘Giuseppe’s boy will live, I think,’ he said, simply. ‘We’ve brought him through the crisis. Thank you, Steven, for giving me the chance to save him. I could not have left Anit...

But to-night he had no joy in craftsmanship; he stared helplessly at the scrolled neck-piece in his hand. “The little shaver!” he muttered. “He took it like a soldier. The littl...