can't do merikles, I can't compel the public to like things if
they don't."

Sez Miss Tutt, "You are jealous of her, you hate her."

"No, I don't," sez I, "I haint jealous of her, and I like her
looks first-rate. I love a pretty young girl," sez I candidly,
"jest as I love a fresh posy with the dew still on it, a dainty
rose-bud with the sweet fragrance layin' on its half-folded heart.
I love 'em," sez I, a beginnin' to eppisode a little unbeknown to
me, "I love 'em jest as I love the soft unbroken silence of the
early spring mornin', the sun all palely tinted with rose and
blue, and the earth alayin' calm and unwoke-up, fresh and fair. I
love such a mornin' and such a life, for itself and for the
unwritten prophecis in it. And when I see genius in such a sweet,
young life, why it makes me feel as it duz to see through all the
tender prophetic beauty of the mornin' skies, a big white dove a
soarin' up through the blue heavens."

Sez Miss Tutt, "You see that in Ardelia, but you wont own it, you
know you do."

"No!" sez I, "I would love to tell you that I see it in Ardelia; I
would honest, but I can't look into them mornin' skies and say I
see a white dove there, when I don't see nothin' more than a plump
pullet, a jumpin' down from the fence or a pickin' round calmly in
the back door-yard. Jest as likely the hen is, as the white dove,
jest as honerable, but you mustn't confound the two together."

"A hen," sez Miss Tutt bitterly. "To confound my Ardelia with a