‘The Artist and the Little Men’ by Yvonne J Foster

 

Once upon a time there was a poor artist who lived on her own. She had nothing left but the supplies to make one picture. “I will sketch the outlines of this last picture. Then I will finish it in the morning,” she said. So she sketched out the picture. Then she went to bed.

In the morning, the artist went to her studio to work on the picture. But is was already finished and standing on the table. The picture was so well made that artist sold it that very day. Then she bought more supplies with the money.

The next day, before she went to bed, she sketched out two pictures. “I’m going to bed now,” she said. “I will finish them in the morning.” So she went to bed.

Next morning, the artist went to her studio to work on the pictures. But they were finished and standing on the table. They were so well made that she sold them that very day. Then she bought more supplies with the money.

That night, just before bedtime, the artist sketched out three pictures. “I’m going to bed now,” she said. “I will finish them in the morning.” So she went to bed.

Next morning the artist went to her studio to work on her pictures. But they were finished and standing on the table. They were so well made that the artist sold them that very day and bought even more supplies.

So the next night she sketched out four pictures. And the next night five. And then next night six. And the next night, she sketched out seven pictures. It went on and on like that. The artist was making enough money but she was still on her own. One day, the artist said to herself, “Tonight I shall stay up late and see who it is that is helping me.”

So she did not go to bed. She stayed up, and hid in the corner of her studio. She watched and waited, but nothing happened. Then, just as the clock struck twelve, two little men came in and sat down on the table. They carefully and quietly began to make the pictures. The artist watched and waited. Soon the work was finished. The little men jumped down from the table and ran out of the studio.

Next morning the artist said to herself, “The little men have made such beautiful art work. I want to do something for them. I will make them a little art studio of their own.” So she set to work. Soon there was a tiny room. In the room was a tiny table and a tiny stool.A tiny bookcase and a tiny easel. A set of tiny paints, brushes and pencils. There were even tiny books for the bookcase. She laid them on the table, and then hid in the corner of the studio.

She watched and waited, but nothing happened. Then just as the clock struck twelve, the two little men came in and sat down at the table as before. They stood still and looked. They they clapped their hands with joy and began to dance around on the table. They hopped and skipped about and played with all the tiny supplies. That night instead of jumping down from the table and running away they stayed.

So the next night the artist and the little men worked together. Just as the clock struck twelve another two little men came in and sat down at the table. And the next night three more. And the next night four more. And the next night their families joined them. The artist had plenty of work and sold many more pictures and she was never on her own again.

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