Dorian looked critically back and forth. "The sky is redder," be decided.
"And yet if I make my picture as red as the sky naturally is, many people would say that it is too red to be true. I'll risk it anyway." Then she carefully laid on a little more color.
"Nature itself, our teacher told us, is always more intense than any representation of nature."
She worked on in silence for a few moments, then without looking from her canvas, she asked: "Do you like being a farmer?"
"Oh, I guess so," he replied somewhat indefinitely. "I've lived on a farm all my life, and I don't know anything else. I used to think I would like to get away, but mother always wanted to stay. There's been a lot of hard work for both of us, but now things are coming more our way, and I like it better. Anyway, I couldn't live in the city now."
"Why?"
"Well, I don't seem able to breathe in the city, with its smoke and its noise and its crowding together of houses and people."
"You ought to go to Chicago or New York or Boston," she replied. "Then you would see some crowds and hear some noises."
"Have you been there?"
"I studied drawing and painting in Boston. Next to farming, what would you like to do?"