"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.
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