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with his two young nephews. He took them out on horseback on some of the trails he had ridden as a youth. As he watched them carefully, he thought once, It’s good to be home again. Why can’t I have sense enough just to stay here and marry Lois Gardner?We could have ten kids, and with her old man’s money, he would set me up even if Pa wouldn’t—which, of course, he would. The thought played around in his mind. He was an imaginative man who spent a great deal of time daydreaming, but there was a hard core of realism in him and he finally said to himself, “Lois wouldn’t care for starving in an attic in some big city, which is what I’ll be doing soon enough.”

    The days passed pleasantly as Phil Winslow reacquainted himself with his homeland. Every day he rode the hills and the plains, helped Lobo with the cattle, and made short trips into town with his mother to do some shopping. It was a relaxing and easy time, but as the days went by, he grew more and more restless.
    His mother was the first to notice. She had a keen sense of discernment, and finally one day after supper, as they sat together on the front porch looking out toward the golden sun sinking behind the mountains, she said, “Tell me, now, Phil. What is it that’s in your heart?”
    Phil was jolted out of his reverie, for in truth, his mind had wandered far away from the beautiful sunset before him. He leaned over and squeezed her arm. “You know me best, Ma. I never could figure out how you knew exactly what I was thinking.”
    “Well, devil fly off! It’s not hard. You’re so preoccupied, I’m surprised you don’t run into a tree. What is it? More painting, I think.”
    Phil shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been telling myself what a fool I’d be to leave this place again. Everything I could ever want is right here. Why, I even thought about proposing marriage to Lois Gardner.” He smiled and saw his mother’s face tense. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to.”
    “I know.” Bronwen turned and her face softened. “You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you, Phil?”
    “I’m afraid so, Ma.”
    “I knew it. I told your father two days after you got here that you would never stay.”
    They sat there talking, and soon Zach came out and joined them. A quietness had settled over the land, and the stars began to twinkle like diamonds in the ebony sky. Finally Phil said softly, “I know you’re disappointed in me, Pa. I’m not the kind of son you’d like to have had.”
    “Don’t you believe it,” Zach said quickly. “I don’t know much about painting, but you’ve been given something special that’s not in most men. The only thing I want, son, is for you to do this painting business for the glory of God. That’s what the Scriptures say. Whether you eat or drink or paint, do it all to the glory of God.”
    “I never read that last part, Zach!” Bronwen scolded him. “But I know what you mean,” she added. “Do you think you can be an artist for the glory of God, son?”
    Many times, all alone in his room in London, Phil had thought of his parents. He remembered the hours upon hours that his father and mother had read the Scriptures to him when he was a child. They were the best Christians he knew, and he had come to accept the Lord himself at an early age. Though Paris and London had their share of grave temptations, he had found a good church in London and had kept his faith intact. Now, however, he was somewhat confused, and he said, “Back in the Middle Ages everyone painted for the glory of God. If you painted at all, you painted the Holy Family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, or one of the saints. Things have changed a little bit since then. I’ve wondered a lot how I could serve God as a painter.”
    “If that’s what you want, why, you’ll find it. God will help you,” Bronwen said.
    “I’ll be leaving right away.”
    “Your mother told me she thought you would,” Zach said. “Where will you be