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sizeable markup, having bought them for ten cents. They sold steadily and I was kept busy replenishing the stock. Morover, they brought the first measure of recognition for my "art."

One ene evening, my father said, "Dorothy have you read the Press-Democrat totday?"

I mumbled, "Well, yes, I guess so."

He had made it a rule that each of us, as soon as we were old enough, must read the town's two newspapers, the Santa Rosa Press-Democrat and the Republican. Much of the content was incomprehensible to us children but I am glad he laid down the rule. I have been an avid newspaper reader ever since. 

Now he asked, "Did you see anything particularly interesting?"

I shook my head.

"Then look on Page Three."

I turned to the third page and scanned the columns. In a small item at the bottom, I saw my name. It reported that Bruner's art shop was displaying flowers pots painted in unusual designs. It went on to say that Mr. Bruner's customers were surprised to learn that they were the work of "Dorothy Wright, aged 10, the daughter of