the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy,
and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf
herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew
weaker.
Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his
contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.
"Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness
to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf
not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your
fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to
come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy."
"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her
mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman,
if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are
a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet."
"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not
bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying
to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which
one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a
masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."
Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the
shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the
other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the
ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without
speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow.
Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner
on an upturned kettle for a rock.
When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she
found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn
green shade.
"Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
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