Howard Pyle, a chronicle by Charles D. Abbott, with an introduction by N. C. Wyeth and many illustrations from Howard Pyle's works.

INTRODUCTION
your best, and work hard!" His broad, kindly face looked
solemn as he spoke those words, and from that moment
I knew that he meant infinitely more to me than a mere
teacher of illustration. It was this commanding spirit of
earnestness and of love that made his leadership distinctive, and which has perpetuated in the hearts of all his pupils
a deep affection akin to that which one holds toward his
own parents.
Who of his associates (and, after all, we were associates
as well as students) can forget the somber hours in the
gloaming, when, after a hard day's work before our easels,
we sat in the class studio, watching with blissful content the
fading square patch of the skylight, warm with the light
of the afterglow, violet, then a dim, dusty gray? Who of
us has not thrilled in these moments, when suddenly we
heard the dull jar of the master's door, the slight afterrattle of the brass knocker as it closed, and the faint sound
of his footsteps on the brick walk? And then, as we had
hoped, our -own door was opened and he entered in the dim
light and sat among us.
I can see him now, the soft overhead light faintly
modeling his large, generous features, his massive forehead and deep-set eyes, the breadth between the eyes and
the prominent cheek bones. Breaking the tense silence, he
would talk in a soft, hushed voice, of art, its relation to life,
his aspirations, his aspirations for us. Only too soon he
would say good-night and leave us in the darkness, and, as
we felt for our hats and coats, each one knew that every
jaw was set to do better in life and work and in some
measure to express our deep gratitude to the one who had
inspired us.
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