'Pshaw,' pettishly returned the artist; 'go play with your doll, and
don't talk about things you can't understand.'
'But I should like to learn, papa,' the child resumed: 'I think it
would be so pretty to paint, and, besides, it would get us some more
money, and then we could have a large house and servants, such as we
used to have, and that would make you happy again, would it not,
papa?'
'You are a good girl, Amy, to wish to see me happy,' the father
rejoined, somewhat softened by the artless affection of his little
daughter; 'but women are never painters--that is, they are never
great painters.' The child made no further comment, but still
retained her seat, until her father's task was accomplished.
The chamber in which this brief dialogue took place was a
meanly-furnished apartment in a small house situated in the suburbs
of Manchester. The appearance of the artist was that of a
disappointed man, who contends doggedly with adversity rather than
stems the torrent with fortitude.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194