Pen Pricks 



back in shadow every dim recess. And that Leg- 

 horn rooster on the pile. Can't I see that he adds 

 the necessary touch of utter white. Nor does 

 my brother wait for me to answer. Without 

 more ado he has perched himself upon the wall 

 that binds the cowlane, his pad upon his knees, 

 his pencil out. 



It is not merely his dehght in homely scenes, 

 however, that works havoc with my articles. 

 Sometimes it is his way of jumping facts. His- 

 torical accuracy is for him no bar. In contrast 

 to my own heavy-footed plodding, he does not 

 see his obstacles and clears them nimbly without 

 knowing they are there. 



Not long ago in an old volume, I ran foul of a 

 pirate who lurked about New England shores. A 

 satisfying brigand so I found him. In fact, "his 

 deeds of prowess could not be related," said the 

 author, "without giving Natm-e a too grievous 

 shock." Such, however, as I might considerately 

 retell for a still more queasy generation called 

 for a background, sinister and grim. Trium- 

 phantly, my brother called it forth ; a coast where 

 tumbled bowlders were pitched high, clouds omi- 



[29] 



