conjectures. I said to myself "Some thought of the past has come over
her," for I could not see how the stay of Wilmur Benton could affect her
happiness. He treated her with great deference and seemed to realize
with us that she had a rare organization. His stay was a matter of great
interest with Hal, as Hal was to gain from him the instruction he
needed, and they expected to get much enjoyment from working together.
Louis would be with us through the holidays, and Mr. Benton would, I
knew, enjoy that, for he insisted that it was the magic of his hand that
had saved Hal's life, and he looked on him as a real blessing. The two
artist souls blended as one, and drank daily deep draughts from the
fountain of an inspiring genius, and as I watched the work grow under
their hands, and the plastic and senseless clay become a fair statue,
lacking nothing save breath and motion to reveal an entity, I questioned
if the power was really theirs, or if their hands had touched a secret
spring and were guided outside of themselves. It really never seemed
like exertion, and to sense this wondrous art was to me the asking of
questions deeper than any among us could answer.

Hal's statue of dear Aunt Hildy was copied, and improved also by Mr.
Benton, who considered it a masterpiece, and the respect we bore our
friend was not lessened, even though there were those among us who might
speculate as to the motive that prompted it.

We never called her funny, but original, and good as gold. Our family
numbered now seven people, and with the farm work in addition to the
daily preparation of meals, the clearing up and upsetting again of
things, there were many steps to take, and Aunt Hildy was installed as
our help in need.

These were the days of help--not servants--when honest toil was well