The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-09-28

NlN Her diploma was in her
~ trunk, and her COM
mencement essay had
been eulogized in most fiatterlng
way, not only by the editor OF the
Woodward daily, but by the various
members of the faculty, including
the learned president. Of course
Mamie was eIated, but the fiattering
words that had been ringing in her
ears for the last week had not turned
her head, as they might have done
that of many silly but less gifted
girl. Although she had completed
the course of study prescribed by
the institution from which she had
received her degree, she was not
foolish enough to think her educa-
ton finished, and the many plans she
had matured for carrying on the
work of self-improvement were ex-
tended enough to fill an ordinary
lifetime. In addition to the literary
course she had been pursuing,
Mamie had given much time and at
tention to drawing and portrait
painting. She was not born artist
by any means, but she delighted in
tracing graceful curves and had fine
eye for coloring; hence, with her
bump of "stick to it-iveness" thoro-
ughly developed, it was not at all
singular that she reached high de-
gree of excellence in her studies in
the world of art. So many words OF
commentator did she receive OF her
work in this line that she determined
to enter the contest, which was to
take place among amateur artists
during the county fair, to be held in
Springfield, three miles from NAMES
country home. Besides the gold
medal which was to be conferred up
on the most successful contestant,
there were prizes of one hundred,
fifty, and twenty-five dollars respec-
lively, to go to the three doing the
most praiseworthy work.
Mamie was ambitious, and even
before she had chosen subject for
her picture, visions of that gold
medal began to tantalize her. But,
perhaps, it was not SO much the honor
it would bring az the hundred dol
lars it represented that urged her on,
Notwithstanding her WEAKNESS and
the excessive heat that was ushered
in with the long, dry days of July.
AT first she took up her pencil and
brush with considerable Impotence,
but as the painting progressed under
her skillful fingers she put heart into
the work, and more and more, day
by day. she unconsciously wrought
her life into it. Soon the work of
the true artist began to manifest
itself in the delicate lines and ex-
quisite shadings. and the hours she
sat over this child of her affection
became the happiest, the most en-
joyable of the day. In the labor of
love she forgot the heat, all un-
pleasant surroundings, and with the
soul of an artist seemed to live and
breathe in the life-like painting that
grew into shape and feature and ex-
preston under her practced touch.
One hot, sultry morning early in
August. while bending over her easel
as usual, Mamie heard sigh SO deep
aud pitiful that she turned instinc-
lively to the window. AT first she
saw nothing unusual, but repetition
of the sigh-almost sob-caused
her to look in another direction, and
there by the stile, with hoe in one
hand and heavy basket of potatoes
in the other, stood her mother. She
had been down to the struck patch"
for vegetables for dinner, and, worn
out, almost ready to drop off her feet,
had paused here few minutes to
rest. As Mamie watched her trudg-
ing homeward under her heavy load,
she noticed how tired and faded she
looked, how white and thin she lad
grown in these years that she had
spent away from home, and the SYM
pathetic murmur that escaped her
lips, "Poor mother; you have to work
too hardP was murmur of pity,