The New England magazine . WHOM THE GODS LOVE By VIRNA SHEARD. ARY ELLEN was paintingout in the sun with her modelbefore her on what was sup-posedly the sidewalk of thestreet. The street was in thebottom of the cup of the city, and into ithad sunk the dregs of the human brew. It did not worry Mary Ellen that shewas a dreg — not in the least. She paintedin the sun, and when she painted it waswith an intensity of concentration, a soul-warming delight, an indifference to dis-comfort and discouraging limitations asregarded the implements of her art, thatmight have put many a Royal Academicianto th
The New England magazine . WHOM THE GODS LOVE By VIRNA SHEARD. ARY ELLEN was paintingout in the sun with her modelbefore her on what was sup-posedly the sidewalk of thestreet. The street was in thebottom of the cup of the city, and into ithad sunk the dregs of the human brew. It did not worry Mary Ellen that shewas a dreg — not in the least. She paintedin the sun, and when she painted it waswith an intensity of concentration, a soul-warming delight, an indifference to dis-comfort and discouraging limitations asregarded the implements of her art, thatmight have put many a Royal Academicianto the blush. True, there were traces of recent tearsupon her face — of a storm that was past— and at intervals a fluttering sigh wouldshake her small frame. Yet she had ap-parently risen above her woes; for now shesat on the loose muddy boards, her backagainst the house and with what served herfor a canvas propped up on her lap againstthe rigidity of two thin little knees, and thejoy of her work cast other things in oblivion. The kit was scattered around h
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidnewenglandma, bookyear1887
