The Abbeville messenger. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1884-1887, 1885-11-24
EARNING HER LIVING.

pest OF times. Its one window, plant
ed dormer-fashion in the roof, gave a
view of the blank whitewashed side
Of an adjoining house, which lowered
mp a story or so higher, than its
anpretentious neighbors.
But Minna-a parsonage who always
made the best of things-had abso-
!utely persuaded herself that this was
She 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
al,noys 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
cite and sheaf Of brushes.
Her outfit had cost q considerable
'um-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,
sat" to her two hours every day after
school, quite satisfied with ginger
bread nuts to MUNICH and a battered
rag doll, which had belonged to Min
ua's W 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 a degree gloomier than it's
usual wont; and when Minna arraug-
cd her canvas on the easel, a dim sort
Of misgivihg crept across her heart.
1t was a simple picture that she had
painted-a little girl playing on a sun
decked barn-floor, with a brood of
chickens futtering 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 today
it was as If a leaden spell had descend
ed upon everything.
cam I an artist? ?" Minna asked her
self; cor am I not?"
- 80.
Rose Hale's step, coming softly down
the stairs, aroused her from q disa-
greeable reverie.
She hurried to the door, with the
almost invisible limp which had al
ways haunted her since that unluckv
fall Of her childhood.
"Ross," she said, 'are you in a hur-
ryp Do come in q momentl''
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
''resl imported kid gloves. fresh from
Paris" ware turned out by the dozen
gross a day.
what is It, Minna?" she asked
cheertully.
Look at this picture" said Minna,
drawing her up in front Of the easel,
swell I'm looking" said Rosa.
what do you think of it?"
What do / think ofitP" Rosa re-
peated. "Why, I think it is beautiful
J "Oh, I know thatr' impatiently
cried Minna. "The bits of hay are
painted to perfection, and the rat
holes In che barn-foor ara copied ex-
actly after that one in the corner of
the cupboard; but all that isn't true
art, Rosa. Does the child look as if
she would speak to Jou?"
"The checks in her gingham apron
are painted beautifully" said Rosa,
timidly.
Minna frowned.
'BEt tho cat?" said she. "Is It a
live catP Do you fancy you are going
to see her spring."
"N-no.' unwillingly admitted Rosa.
"It's a lovely cat, but it is only a pict-
are of a catl Minna-dear Minna, /
haven't offended You, have II"
"Oh, nor said Minna, lightly. aBut
you have told merexactly what 1 want
ed to know-what I was sure OF my
sell. Good-by, Rosal-and mind you
don't bring me any more Of those deli
sSous little bouquets. They're lovely.