The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1903-04-10


ters with her friends, and her eyes
were large with wonder when the
great author complimented Lucia on
her last story. Oh, that she, too,
might do something to make the big
world pause to admire and commend
her!
Sometimes theseasccret aspirations
were not kept altogether to herself,
but were vaguely limited at in con-
versation. "Why, Dolly, we don't
want you to be literary" her father
would say on such occasions. eve
like you better just as you are" And
Mr.. Winters seemed to think that set
tied it. If they didn't want her to be
literary, why in the world need she be
ambitious to be anything of the sort?
Nevertheless, she did try to write
sometimes, just as the others did, and
worked hard over some extremely in
different little stories which were des-
tined to travel many weary miles be-
tween herself and various publishers.
These articles were the subject of
much sport in the family. They were
in the habit of inquiring in face
tious manner about the health of her
Wandering Willies," as Clarence
dubbed her rejected manuscripts.
Clarence did love to get hold of one
Of those self-addressed envelopes
when the postman brought it back,
and make her guess which one it
might be. She looked so pretty hang
ing on his arm and teasing for it,
that he felt compelled to give her a
kiss and a squeeze, while Lucia
watched them with a languid, indul-
gent smile. Yet Clarence and Lucia
loved her dearly, and would have
been shocked at the thought of griev-
ing her tender heart.
Dorothy knew well enough that her
writing was very poor, and soon
in this way. AS a matter of fact,
she did not like to write at all, and
only did so because she hated to be a
drone in this literary beehive. 1t was
simply bore to her, and she spent
much of her time making sketches
on the margin of her paper, as Tom
my Traddles did in David Copper
field; only instead of drawing skele-
tons, she made curious brownies and
grotesque animals that it certainly
would have been no sin to worship,
for they were like nothing on the
earth or in the waters beneath the
earth. The family called them Do
rothy's queer cows"
At last she despaired altogether,
and when the rejected manuscripts
had all come back she tumbled them
in heap into drawer, which she
in-the-mouth sort of feeling 1t is
to be feared that just the least little
bit of grain of bitterness was in
Dorothy's heart when she thought of
the position of household director to
which she had been so summarily rel
egated by her affectionate friends.
Still the old longing to do something
and be something kept pulling away
at her, and when she began to beg to
be allowed to take drawing lessons
at the Art institute. her mother said:
'sWhy not let her do it? The dear
when we are all away or busy, even
if she is so domestic. Looking after
the house doesn't take all her time"
sWhy, of course" said Mr.. Winters.
eff there's anything in the world that
/ can do to give Dorothy pleasure
Pm only too glad"
"Oh, certainly" said sister Lucia.
ct will give her something to think
of, even if she doesn't accomplish
much with it."
And so Dorothy was entered in one
of the classes of the Art institute,
and then the family, absorbed in it's
own more important affairs, at once
proceeded to forget all about it. No
body ever thought to inquire about
her work except Mr.. Winters, to
whom it occurred once in awhile in a
vague fashion.
'And how are the queer cows,
daughter?" he would ask, pinching
her soft, round cheek.
ooh, they're just as bad as ever"
Dorothy would say with an answer
ing smile. "They pop out on the casts
and still life exactly as they did on
the manuscript" She was brave
little soul, and if she felt hurt by
this indulgent neglect she kept it to
herself.
When she had been in the Art insti-
tute for about a year without having
ever seemed to accomplish anything
to attract attention in the least, Mr..
Winters began to talk very much
about a new artist who had of late
been sending in drawings as illustra-
tions of current events. They were
humorous in character, and good
many of them appeared in his paper.
Everyone said they were remarkably
clever, indeed quite superior to any
furnished by the staff artists. The
family all enjoyed the pictures great
ly, and they were the subject of much
favorable comment after every issue
of Mr.. Winters paper.
ST believe" he himself said one
day, shat this Henry Page Esmond
has the making of great artist in
him Those Sl.atnbac Of b;c ora ;,,cf