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for her patient care of my little rheumatic legs. I do not know, but I have heard that she was happily married. My first box of colors came on a Christmas morning. I have no doubt that my father was in little sympathy with this gift, but perhaps he had given up resisting, so long as two of the sons had become commercial men my mothers indulgence might be permitted with the third. How well I recall [straling?] down the stairway in the dawn of the Christmas morning and pearing joyfully over the balustrade at the tall three legged Easel with the bright [?] box standing open on the chair beneath and the row of bright new tubes of color. It was really to be true, I could paint after all. I was already no mean draughtsman and when I look about me today