the top shelf. But she was a beaut, all right. And all
Cornelia was doin' to bring her out was just slashin' away careless
with the knife and spoon handle, hardly stoppin' a second between
strokes. She simply had 'em goggle eyed. I reckon they'd seen things
just as fine and maybe better, but they hadn't had a front seat before,
while a little ninety-pound cinnamon top like Cornelia Ann stepped up
and yanked a whitewashed angel out of a snow heap.

"It's wonderful!" says Mrs. Purdy Pell.

"Looks to me like we had Skippy fingerin' the citrus, don't it?" says I.

The Count he's been standin' there with his mouth open, like the rest
of us, only growin' redder 'n' redder.

But just then Cornelia makes one last swipe, drops her tools, and steps
back to take a view. We all quits to see what's comin' next. Well,
she looks and looks at that Lady Reacher she's dug out, never sayin' a
word; and before we knows it she's slumped right down there in the
snow, with both hands over her face, doin' the weep act like a kid.

In two shakes it was Sadie and Mrs. Purdy Pell to the rescue, one on
each side, while the rest of us gawps on and looks foolish.

"What is it, you poor darling?" says Sadie.

Finally, after a good weep, Cornie unloosens her trouble. "Oh, oh!"
says she. "I just know it's going to rain to-morrow!"

Now wouldn't that give you a foolish fit?

"What of it?" says Sadie.

"That," says she, pointin' to the snow lady. "She'll be gone forever.
Oh, it's wicked, wicked!"

"Well," says I, "she's too big to go in the ice box."

"Never mind, dear," says Mrs. Purdy Pell; "you shall stay right here
and do another one, in solid marble. I'll give you a thousand for a
duplicate of that."

"And then you must do something for me," says Sadie.

"And me, too," says Mrs. Dicky Madison.

I didn't wait to hear any more, for boostin' lady sculpturesses ain't
my reg'lar work. But, from all I hear of Cornelia Ann, she won't paste
labels in any broom fact'ry.

For your simple liver and slow quitter, art's all right; but it's a
long shot, at that. What?

XVI

WHY FERDY DUCKED

Say, there's no tellin', is there? Sometimes the quietest runnin'
bubbles blows up with the biggest bang. Now look at Ferdy. He was as
retirin' and modest as a new lodge member at his first meetin'. Why,
he's so anxious to dodge makin' a show of himself that when he comes
here for a private course I has to lock the Studio door an