'Bless you! she's in Athens, and doesn't hear a word. She ought to
leave off, though, and go out. My darling, put the baby to sleep, and
go for a run. Aunt Meg is in the parlour; go and show her the new
pictures till we come,' added Laurie, looking at his tall girl as
Pygmalion might have looked at Galatea; for he considered her the
finest statue in the house.

'Yes, papa; but please tell me if it is good'; and Bess obediently
put down her tools, with a lingering glance at the bust.

'My cherished daughter, truth compels me to confess that one cheek is
plumper than the other; and the curls upon its infant brow are rather
too much like horns for perfect grace; otherwise it rivals Raphael's
Chanting Cherubs, and I'm proud of it.'

Laurie was laughing as he spoke; for these first attempts were so
like Amy's early ones, it was impossible to regard them as soberly as
the enthusiastic mamma did.

'You can't see beauty in anything but music,' answered Bess, shaking
the golden head that made the one bright spot in the cool north
lights of the great studio.

'Well, I see beauty in you, dear. And if you are not art, what is? I
wish to put a little more nature into you, and get you away from this
cold clay and marble into the sunshine, to dance and laugh as the
others do. I want a flesh-and-blood girl, not a sweet statue in a
grey pinafore, who forgets everything but her work.' As he spoke, two
dusty hands came round his neck, and Bess said earnestly, punctuating
her words with soft touches of her lips: