I am only a picture, and as such have lived my life much as every picture does: in restful silence and repose. However, my life, I think, differs somewhat from the lives of other pictures that I know in that it has not been quite so peaceful and undisturbed. There has entered, especially in these later years, much of interest and excitement, that has somewhat relieved my life of some of its deadness and inertness and has made it at least, for a time, worth the living. My life, up to within a year or two ago, has been lived the same, day after day, week after week, and then on into the months and years. I have quite forgotten the experiences and the things of earlier years, which seemed to me then to be a little out of the ordinary and which, when they occurred, I enjoyed to the fullest extent. Those are passed, and out of the vagueness that remains, I can draw hardly anything that I would feel justified in weaving into my history. Accordingly I shall try to give as best I can a very brief account of the events of the last years or two, and in this way relieve my mind of the over-taking burdens of thought that have been thrust upon it.
As I said before, the beginnings of my life are very vague, yet I still have a faint recollection of the very first ; the day the photographer brought me into being. I don't remember much about it, except the fact that I was placed in an envelope and put to one side. It was several days before I was taken out of the confining walls that held me, only to find myself not at the photographers, but in the hands of a young girls who stood looking intently at me. Evidently I seemed to please her, for, as she hurried away, I heard her say something to the effect that I wasn't so bad looking after all. However that may be, I grew to like her and looked with pleasure to the three or four times every day that she came to gaze into my face. If I could only have been permitted to remain in my first home, I would have been satisfied but such a thing was not to be.
One day I was taken from my place on the shelf, by my mistress, and, after a long searching look into my face, she put me into some kind of black thing and snapped the edges together, and went out of the house with me. When I "came to" I found myself lying face upward on a table. I thought this a pretty poor way to treat me after I had been treated so nicely before, and as a result I felt slighted and hurt. I thought of my young mistress then. Where was she and why had she left me in this tiresome position on the table? I soon learned the reason for this. I had been given away to someone else. After some time my new owner came, picked me up, and carried me off and put me on a bureau, way off up the stairs, in some back room and there I remained for a long time. Hardly anyone came to look at me or even notice me. Day after day passed by; this kind of life was becoming rather tiresome. Finally, one day, a young man came into the room where I was, looked at me for a minute or two, and then took me up and examined me closely. When he had finished looking at me to his satisfaction, he took out a book from his pocket, put me between the leaves, and said, as he returned the book to his pocket, "I'll have some fun with that picture yet!" This sounded interesting to me, and although shut up in the dark, I made up my mind to wait patiently until the fun should come. I didn't have to wait long for it was only about two weeks after I had changed hands for the second time, that the fun came.
It all happened in a street car. I was, as usual tightly shut up in that little book in my owner's inside coat pocket. Suddenly he pulled the book out of his pocket, took me out of it, and held me up before the eyes of another young man sitting beside him, saying as he did so, "See what Lucy gave me." I don't know who the young man was but certainly it was amusing to see how excited he suddenly became. For some reason or other, that name seemed to produce a curious effect upon him.
"Did she give you that picture? I don't believe she did, you wouldn't dare ask for her picture anyway. Let's see it, will you? Oh come on, please let's see it!" etc.
Listening to such exclamations as these, and seeing the look of real distress on the face of the young fellow sitting beside my owner, I was almost forced to laugh right out but I managed, with great difficulty, to keep my composure for I knew it would have been impolite to laugh right out in anybody's face. Finally this young fellow quieted down, and, little by little, he drew from my owner, information as to how he had taken possession of me without permission from my previous owner with the thought of teasing him. All this time I was held in such a position that I could see this young man's face and as the two talked together, I saw something of a determined look come upon him. Little did I realize what was passing in that young fellow's mind.
At the close of the journey I was again placed between the leaves of that small book, and with it was put in my owner's pocket. It seemed years to me before I was taken from it again but when I was released I was in strange hands. Someone was looking at me, and as our eyes met I recognized the young man of the streetcar incident. I was surprised. I don't know whether I was pleased or otherwise. I wondered if I was about to change hands again. I wasn't exactly dissatisfied with my present lot, but a change would not be so bad after all; so I thought.
There was something about this young fellow that seemed to indicate that if I were to belong to him, he would use me well, and, perhaps, not keep me shut up all the time in a book. After a little thinking I decided that I would enjoy a change. A change did come that very day and I had a new master. I was rather disappointed at first because he too kept me in confinement between the leaves of a little book he carried around in his pocket. However, my new master was more considerate to me. I was often taken from my prison and intently gazed at by him.
Not long after my third and last changing hands, another event of my life happened, and, curious enough, happened in a railway car. This time I had a surprise waiting for me. As previously, I was taken from my master's pocket and held up before the eyes of a young lady who was sitting beside him. I didn't know what to make of this and tried hard to keep my composure and look as dignified as I possibly could. This young lady seemed to recognize me immediately and acted as if she was ashamed of me, for some reason or other. She looked at me for a minute or two and after exacting from my master a promise that he would show me to no one else, she gave me back again to him and I was returned to my prison. I learned afterward that this young lady was my previous mistress whom I had loved so much and I couldn't quite see why she seemed so ashamed of me. I left hurt that she should act so but perhaps another picture had taken my place. At the present time, I am kept under lock and key still shut up. in that little book. Occasionally I am taken out and looked at and then put back in my prison. Life is beginning to take on for me the same monotony as previously but then I am only a picture and as such I have lived my life the best I knew how, and what more can a picture do?
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