Connecticut western news., 1885-11-18
EARNING HER LIVING.

Minna's room was not light at the best of times. Its one window, plant ed characterization in the roof, gave view of the blank whitewashed side of an adjoining house, which lowered up a story or so higher than it's unpretentious neighbors.
 But Minna-a parsonage who always made the best of things-had abso- lately persuaded herself that this was the best light in the world for her oil painting
 "There are no bursts of sunshine or stray sunbeams to disturb the clear, cool atmosphere" said she. Artists asaoays prefer this sort of light"
 For Minna Morton was a working girl. Too delicate to stand behind the counter or superintend the busy loom, she yet endeavored to earn her own livelihood by means of an artists pal ette and sheaf of brushes.
 Her outfit had cost considerable sum-there was no denying that; but Rosa Hale, who stitched kid gloves in downtown factory, had lent her the money for the purchase, and little Bess Beaton, the landlady's daughter, s'sat' to her two hours every day after school, quite satisfied with ginger bread nuts to munch and battered rag doll, which had belonged to Min na's own younger days, to play with.
 And Minna was young and hopeful, and in the far distance saw herself acquiring name and fortune by means of her beloved art.
 This morning, however, the room seemed degree gloomier than its usual wont; and when Minna arrang- ed her canvas on the easel, dim sort of misgiviLg crept across her heart.
 It was a simple picture that she had painted-a little girl playing on a sun hecked barn-foor, with brood of chickens fiuttering around her, and a stealthy cat advancing from beneath tangled masses of hay.
 Yesterday the little girl had seemed animated with real. actual life; the hay had seemed to rustic in the wind; one could almost perceive the sinuous, gliding motion of the cat. But to-day it was as if leaden spell had descend ed upon everything.
 "Am an artist?" Minna asked her self; s.or am not?''
 Rose Hale's step, coming softly down the stairs, aroused her from disa- greeable reverie.
 She hurried to the door, with the almost invisible limp which had al- ways haunted her since that unlucky fall of her childhood.
 Rosa" she said, "are you in hur- ryP Do come in momentp'
 And Rosa came in, with her little brown bonnet neatly tied underneath her chin, and her lunch basket in her hand, on her way to the factory where 'real imported kid gloves. fresh from Paris" ware turned out by the dozen gross day.
 "What is it, MinnaP" she asked cheertuily.
 Look at this picture" said Minna, drawing her up in front of the easel
 "Well, I'm looking" said Rosa.
 "What do you think of it?"
 "What do l think of itP' Rosa re. peated. "Why, think 1t is beautifulp'
 "Oh, I know thatp' impatiently cried Minna. "The bits of hay are painted to perfection, and the rat. holes in the barn-hoor are copied ex actly after that one in the corner o1 the cupboard; but all that isn't true art, Rosa. Does the child look as il she would speak to youP"
 "The checks in her gingham aproI are painted beautifully" said Rosa timidly.
 Minna frowned.
 "But the cat?" said she. "Is 1t { live cat9 Do you fancy you are going to see her spring?"
 "N-no." unwillingly admitted Rosa "It's lovely cat, but it is only pict ure of catl Minna-dear Minna, haven't offended you, have I?"
 "Oh, nor' said Minna, lightly. "Bu you have told me exactly what want ed to know-what I was sure of my self. Good-by, Rosa!-and mind 70, don't bring me any more of those deli cious little bouquets. They're lovely but they cost five cents, and yo, haven't any fiye-cent pieces to throv away"
 And so, with loving kiss, she dis missed the pink-cheeked little factory girl, wEo was always so kind to her and then she sat down in the Upa shadow of the dismal whitewashe wall, and cried:
 II knsw it aal alons,s nhe declared s & @