"'Tis, hey? I want to know! A--a--what did you call it?"

"A Corot. He was a famous French artist. That was father's favorite
picture."

"Sho! Well, I like it fust-rate myself. Did 'Bije--did your father know
this Mr. Corot well?"

"Know him? Certainly not. Why should you think such a thing as that?"

"Well, he bought the picture of him, and so I s'pose likely he knew him.
There was a young feller come to South Denboro three or four year
ago and offered to paint a picture of our place for fifteen dollars.
Abbie--that's Abbie Baker, she's one of our folks, you know, your third
cousin, Caroline; keepin' house for me, she is--Abbie wanted me to have
him do the job, but I wa'n't very particular about it, so it never come
to nothin'. He done two or three places, though, and I swan 'twas nice
work! He painted Sam Cahoon's old ramshackle house and barn, and you'd
hardly know it, 'twas so fixed up and fine, in the picture. White paint
and green grass and everything just like real. He left out the places
where the pickets was off the fence and the blinds hangin' on one hinge.
I told Abbie, I says, 'Abbie, that painter's made Sam's place look
almost respectable, and if that ain't a miracle, I don't know what is.
I would think Sam would blush every time he sees that picture.' Ho, ho!
Abbie seemed to cal'late that Sam Cahoon's blushin' would be the biggest
miracle of the two. Ho! ho! You'd like Abbie; she's got lots of common
sense."

He chuckled at the reminiscence and rubbed his knee. His niece made no
reply. Captain Elisha glanced at the Corot once more and asked another