"Yes, but few persons are aware of it. A name is forgotten so soon." Unknowingly, Amy sighed. "My father was quite noted at the time of his death. That was only four years ago. It seems a century."
"Your father's paintings will never be forgotten," Penny assured her earnestly. "They will always be treasured."
"I hope so. Father really sacrificed himself to his art. He died in poverty."
"You have had a difficult time since then?" Penny asked kindly.
"Yes, but I have no complaint. I shall manage to get along and I derive a real joy from my sculptoring."
"Your father taught you, I suppose?"
"All that I know I learned from him. But I can never equal his work."
"That remains to be seen," Penny smiled. "You are only starting your career."
"I haven't been able to sell any of my work. I am getting very discouraged. I had hoped to win the five thousand dollar Huddleson prize, but I failed."
"You should have won," Penny declared loyally. "Your entry was by far the best."