If one had been seeking for a man who combined all the qualities of
goodness and greatness, one would have chosen artist Laurier. He bore
the title of "Master of Arts" and his works, mostly landscapes, were
famous far and wide. He had amassed a considerable fortune, and his
house was the handsomest building in the city, equipped with every
luxury. Besides, it was the home in which all artists, rich or poor,
found welcome at all times.

But conditions changed. Hard times, following quickly in the wake of
recent wars, had made the demand for art, particularly painting, less
and less urgent, till there was no market whatever for the artist's
works. Little by little, he had to draw upon his capital in order to
support his family. However, he continued to paint with unabated
diligence, for he hoped with the betterment of the times to sell his
paintings; or if he should not be permitted to live so long, he would
leave them as a heritage, for the benefit of his wife and children.

Alas, the great man did not live to carry out his purpose. A contagious
disease swept over the country, numbering him among its victims; and he
intuitively felt that he would never again rise from his sick bed.

One morning, following a night filled with great pain and misgivings,
his dutiful wife was seated at his bedside trying to cloak the great
sorrow which she felt at his approaching death. His two little daughters
stood at the foot of his bed. The dying man looked tenderly at his wife
and children, and said: "Be comforted and weep not. True, I can bequeath
you but little; but God, the Father of the widow and orphans, will watch
over you." He then invoked God's blessing upon them, and with his last
breath said, "In heaven we shall meet again." His eyes closed and he