All the back numbers were stored on the shelf of the closet where the overshoes were kept, so many now that when you opened the door a cataract of designs for embroidery, wood carving, pyrography, glass decoration, oil and water-color painting, and colored supplements of Trysting Places and Showers of Roses cascaded out on your head.
"I haven't given it up, as you call it, but if you'll kindly tell me when I have time to do any painting, with making my clothes and Jodie's, and taking care of him, and working in the garden, and doing the things Lizzie can't—you know yourself you won't eat her cake, Joe—and mending and darning and sewing on buttons and trying to keep the house half-way decent"
"I know—I know—I blame myself—you have to do too much. Perhaps soon we can have another maid. I do blame myself so, when I think"
"Oh no! I love to do those things, darling! I love to! I really have time to paint if I want to, only I've let it go so long now I believe I'm a little bit scared about starting in again. I keep planning to, and then—I don't know. But I really am going to. I was just thinking this afternoon that I'd like to do a little picture of Jodie, he's so cunning now. I believe I have a canvas. I wonder if my paints are all dried up? I believe I'll start to-morrow morning—no, I can't to-morrow. I told Mrs. Cuthbert I'd make some sketches for costumes for the Masque of May.
