Article September 18, 1976 Issue

No Little Foxes

Lilian C. Davis

Marian swung down the road in great style, feeling very important. She was going to the shop she liked best and for a happy reason. She had been asked, of all the class, to do a poster for the school entertainment. "One of your splashy things will be just right," the art teacher had told her. "I've noticed what you've been doing lately. Keep on with it, you get such lovely paint quality."

Marian was thrilled. She had always loved art lessons. She couldn't produce much with a pencil, and charcoal got messy, and watercolors rather soggy and wishy-washy. But when she got the tubes of acrylic color for a present, she really enjoyed herself. She could build layer upon layer of color, and it dried fast so she didn't have to wait days to put on the next layer.

Now she was off to the art shop for a big tube of white. You had to have a lot of white to mix with other colors. And she wanted a small tube of that bright green you really couldn't mix. She was talking it over with the salesgirl in the shop when a man dashed in and practically pushed her out of the way. He started talking to the salesgirl over Marian's head, just as if she wasn't there, and he wanted such a lot of things.

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