Beware, Daniel Arker! Form not in my mind such a picture as that of the
mighty prophet in his robes being "it." Over the mantel in our parlor we
have a picture of the lion's den, and it is one of the choicest of our
family treasures. Whence it came, we do not know. Even my mother,
familiar as she was with the minutest detail of our family history as far
back as my grandfather's time, could not tell me that; but we always
believed it to be one of the world's great pictures that by some strange
chance had come into our possession. How well I remember my keen
disappointment on learning that it was not a photograph. It took years
to convince Tim of that, and we consoled ourselves that at least it had
been drawn by one who was there. Else how could he have done it so
accurately? For the likeness of Daniel was splendid. The great prophet
of Babylon must have looked just like that. He must have sat on a
boulder in the middle of the rocky chamber, his eyes fixed on the
ceiling, one hand resting languidly on the head of a mighty lion, a
sandalled foot using another hoary mane as a footstool.
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