You can go, if you want to, much further than this, and paint your fish. Here not so much art as careful study and knowledge of mixing and preparing colors comes into play, which is foreign to the subject.
I know of some lads who were clumsy at first, and speckled themselves all over with plaster, but who after a while made many splendid casts of fish, and worked on big fish, and hard ones too, like eels. Their casts of squirming and twisting eels were first rate. One of the boys took a fishing-pole and put on the hook a plaster-of-Paris eel which he had painted olive green and silvered, and it looked just like a live one. What they did which was worthy of praise was to take casts of all the different kinds of fish which swam in a New York lake near the house where they lived, and they had a little museum of their own.
THE MIDDLE DAUGHTER.[1]
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TOWER-ROOM.
As time went on, Grace surely did not have to share a third part of her sisters' room, did she? For nothing is so much prized by most girls as a room of their very own, and a middle daughter, particularly such a middle daughter as Grace Wainwright, has a claim to a foothold—a wee bit place, as the Scotch say—where she can shut herself in, and read her Bible, and say her prayers, and write her letters, and dream her dreams, with nobody by to see. Mrs. Wainwright had been a good deal disturbed about there being no room for Grace when she came back from Highland, and one would have been fitted up had there been an extra cent in the family exchequer. Grace didn't mind, or if she did, she made light of her sacrifice; but her sisters felt that they ought to help her to privacy.
Eva and Miriam came over to the Manse to consult us in the early days.
I suggested screens.