“Read the others; I cannot know how bad they are until you read them all.”
More hopefully she began the second paper, which she read in a clear, conversational tone:—
“Do you know,” began grandmother, “who said that she could be happy anywhere with good health and a bit of marble?”
And then we were all astir with eager interest.
“Rosa Bonheur was ‘happy anywhere’ with canvas, colors, and brush; and this girl loved marble just as well, and brought breathing life out of the cold marble, as Rosa brought it out on her canvas. But Harriet was an American child, born into a luxurious home, with no brothers or sisters, and her mother soon died and left her alone with her father. Her mother died with consumption, and her father had buried his other child besides Harriet with the same disease, so no wonder he was afraid for his little girl, and determined to give her a playful childhood in air and sunshine. Harriet Hosmer was born in Watertown, Mass., October 9th, 1830.”
“And now she’s older than you are, grandmother,” said Bess. “I like to know about when grandmothers were little girls.”
“But she and Rosa Bonheur are not grandmothers. They have had canvas and marble instead of a home with children and grandchildren in it. As soon as little Harriet was old enough a pet dog was given to her, and she ornamented it with ribbons and bells. Instead of tin cup and iron spoon, which Rosa had, she revelled in all the pretty things that children love. The River Charles ran past her home; her father gave her a boat and told her to take her air and sunshine on the water and learn to develop her muscles by the oars. And then he had built for her a Venetian gondola with velvet cushions and silver prow.
“‘She will be spoiled,’ the neighbors foreboded, but her wise father was not afraid; he knew how much happiness his child could bear and not be rendered selfish. The next thing to help her become strong was a gun; she soon became what your brothers would call a good shot. By and by you will know how strong her hands and arms became and what she could do with them. All this time, just as you are, girls, these common days, she was being made ready for her own special work.”
Juliet grew radiant. She was hoping for “special work.”
“Her room was a museum. Gathered and prepared by her own eager and wise hands she had beetles, snakes, bats, birds, stuffed or preserved in spirits. From the egg of a sea gull and the body of a kingfisher she made an ink-stand; she climbed to the top of a tree for a crow’s nest. Miles and miles she learned to walk without being wearied. In her work and habits and strength she was like a boy. She was fond of books, but just as fond of the clay-pit in her garden where, to her father’s delight as well as her own, she molded dogs and horses.