The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903, 1896-08-29
A STUDY IN YELLOW.
THE Story of woman who chose art.

voice in the world cried out: Come
in, Charlie"
How did you know it was Charlie?"
20, knew by my nose and my two
big toes" she answered, laughing (she
always talked to me as il were still in
kilts), and, working away for dear life.
without looking up. standing in front of
her tall easel (she invariably stool.
Chloe did; somehow never could bear
to see an artist sit at her easer putting
the finishg touches on a little.study, q
bit OF outdoor life-a clothes line. upon
which some sunfile:ked things, sheets.
and pillow slips and towels, Topped in
the breeze. 1t was a fact; you could
almost see them flop. and how she ever
managed that sunshine goodness only
knows:
The slanting north light fell full spCn
her bronze head, and flung q heavy
shadow underneath her chin just the
shadow she would have wished il she
had been psininR her own portrait, but
Chloe did not run to heads. On the
whole, l was glad OF it, too. for have
sort Of horror OF studio walls hung with
rows Of faces, some OF them ill-drawn-
and the best of artists will draw them
badly at times -frowning. scowling,
laughing down at one. 1t is bad enough
to have to look at real people with their
thousand and one expressions.
Chloe painted mostly small land
scapes and masses OF beautiful flowers
that lacked nothing but the smell.
The north light also flung a shadow
underneath her eyes. thought then
that it was this studio shadow that gave
to Chloe's eyes their pathetic intensity.
for / was sure no pathos lurked in her
life; now | know.
As l saw her-and l saw her every
day OF that happy, idle summer-she
seemed fuller of content than most girls.
always busy working at her precious
bits OF nature, surrounded by her little
gem like canvases worth, according to
nv idea, their weight in gold. Among
these pictures that hung on her walls
were fields Of daisies, green meadows in
sunshine and shadow; now and then in
summer showers; indeed. l had often
sat with her, under the same umbrella,
through these summer showers, patient
Iy submitting to the determined drip.
drip, drip of the water from the UNI
brella points down the back Of my ne ok,
while she worked, catching the very
feel OF the soaked grasses and the misty
grays Of the fearful skies. Those were
very Iifelike pictures, for afterward
when saw them in the studio could
feel the drip Of that water down the
back Of my neck.
If ever girl was bound up in her work
it was this girl Chloe, this kind girl who
allowed me, her faithful slave in knick-
erbockers, to stretch myself here on the
meadows and hillsides, by little brook
let's, or under the shadows OF oaks, and
watch her as she worked, losing myself
not always in the picture rapidly form
ing under her skillful fingers, but oftener
in the dimpled roundness Of her pretty
little hand.
Dear Chloe, it was only puppy love l
gave you; and who shall say but what
puppy love is best after all, the fresh
young love that knows no other expert
ence. that, in passing. holds nothing Of
that weary feeling-I have trod this
road before.
well, Charlie, don't stand there
incoming forever" said Chloe; you
maize me nervOus I haven't aeen Won