"Every fair day I spent afield, and my little black horse and load
of cameras, ropes, and ladders became a familiar sight to the
country folk of the Limberlost, in Rainbow Bottom, the Canoper, on
the banks of the Wabash, in woods and thickets and beside the
roads; but few people understood what I was trying to do, none of
them what it would mean were I to succeed. Being so afraid of
failure and the inevitable ridicule in a community where I was
already severly criticised on account of my ideas of housekeeping,
dress, and social customs, I purposely kept everything I did as
quiet as possible. It had to be known that I was interested in
everything afield, and making pictures; also that I was writing
field sketches for nature publications, but little was thought
of it, save as one more, peculiarity, in me. So when my little
story was finished I went to our store and looked over the
magazines. I chose one to which we did not subscribe, having an
attractive cover, good type, and paper, and on the back of an old
envelope, behind the counter, I scribbled: Perriton Maxwell, 116
Nassau Street, New York, and sent my story on its way.
"Then I took a bold step, the first in my self-emancipation. Money
was beginning to come in, and I had some in my purse of my very own
that I had earned when no one even knew I was working. I argued that
if I kept my family so comfortable that they missed nothing from
their usual routine, it was my right to do what I could toward
furthering my personal ambitions in what time I could save from my
housework.
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