dark recesses of the granary. One ray falls on the fresh, comely
countenance of his mother, who has her foot on the last step of a
wooden staircase.[3] Rembrandt took this painting to the Hague, and
sold it for 100 florins. In order to return with more speed, he took
his place in the public coach. When the passengers stopped to dine,
Rembrandt, fearing to lose his treasure, remained in the carriage.
The careless stable-boy who brought the horses their corn forgot to
unharness them, and as soon as they had finished eating, excited
probably by Rembrandt, who cared not for his fellow-passengers, the
animals started off for Leyden, and quietly halted at their
accustomed inn. Our painter then got out, and repaired with his
money to the mill.

Great was his father's joy. At length these silly daubs, which had
so often excited his angry contempt, seemed likely to be transmuted
into gold, and the old man's imagination took a rapturous flight.
'Neither he nor his old horse,' he said, 'need now work any longer;
they might both enjoy quiet during the remainder of their lives.
Paul would paint pictures, and support the whole household in
affluence.'

Such was the old man's castle in the air; his clever, selfish son
soon demolished it. 'This sum of money,' he said, 'is only a lucky
windfall. If you indeed wish it to become the foundation of my
fortune, give me one hundred florins besides, and let me return to
Amsterdam: there I must work and study hard.'

It would be difficult to describe old Rembrandt's disappointment.
Slowly, reluctantly, and one by one, he drew forth the 100 florins
from his strong-box. Paul took them, and with small show of