THE SICK BOY 143 



a day gave up listening to the songs of our birds, or watch- 

 ing their peculiar habits, or delineating them in the best 

 way I could; nay, during my deepest troubles I frequently 

 would wrench myself away from the people around me 

 and retire to some secluded part of our noble forests, and 

 many a time at the sound of the wood- thrushes' melodies 

 have I fallen upon my knees and there prayed earnestly 

 to our God." 



It was the winter of 1823-'24. Audubon had returned 

 from the long Southern journey to Louisville, the journey 

 on which he had been stricken down with the yellow fever, 

 when his faithful wife went out into the forests to nurse 

 him. He engaged a room for himself and Victor at Ship- 

 pingport, where the father and son painted all winter. 



He gave himself to his life illustrations, doing as perfect 

 work as he was able on his beloved Birds of America. He 

 lived simply in a single room, but the sky, the bright waters, 

 and the forests all were his. He talked to Victor as to his 

 heart, and the boy, like the Knitter of Nantes, came to 

 believe that he would one day " stand before kings." 



A trader of the town saw how impoverished they were 

 and wished to help them. He came to them one day. 



" Mr. Audubon, my business prospers, and I want a 

 sign over my door that will be worthy of it. Would you 

 consider it beneath the dignity of a true artist to paint 

 a sign?" 



" No, a well-painted sign would honor my art." 



