Very quietly,--almost reverently,--they moved about; talking in low tones, as though half expecting--they knew not what.
"Some one loves this place," said the novelist, softly, when they stood, again, in the entrance.
And the artist answered in the same hushed voice, "I wonder what it means ?" When they were again in the barn, Aaron King became eagerly enthusiastic over the possibilities of the big room.

"Some rightly toned burlap on the walls and ceiling,"-- he pointed out,--"with floor covering and rugs in harmony; there"-- rolling back the big door as he spoke--"your north light; some hangings and screens to hide the stairway to the loft, and the stable door; your entrance over here in the corner, nicely out of the way; and the window looking into the garden--it's great man, great!" "And," answered Conrad Lagrange, from where he stood in the big front door, "the mountains! Don't forget the mountains.

The soft, steady, north light on your canvas, and a message from the mountains to your soul, through the same window, should make it a good place to work, Mr.
Painter-man.

I suppose over here"-- he moved away from the window, and spoke in his mocking way--"over here, you will have a tea-table for the ladies of the circle elect--who will come to, 'oh', and, 'ah', their admiration of the newly discovered genius, and to chatter their misunderstandings of his art.

Of course, there will be a page in velvet and gold.