CHAPTER XVIII
The four beasts were of heroic size. They came out of the moulds like creatures of a prehistoric age. Benvenuto Cellini, who was to have met his friend Antony at the foundry on the day Fairfax's first plaster cast was carried down, failed to put in an appearance, and Fairfax had the lonely joy, the melancholy, lonely joy, of assisting at the birth of one of his big creatures. All four of them were ultimately cast, but they were to remain in the foundry until Cedersholm's return.
His plans for the future took dignity, and importance, from the fact of his success, and he reviewed with joy the hard labour of the winter, for which in all he had been paid one hundred dollars. He was in need of everything new, from shoes up. He was a great dandy, or would have liked to have afforded to be. As for a spring overcoat—well, he couldn't bear to read the tempting advertisements, and even Gardiner's microscopic coat, chosen by Bella, caused his big cousin a twinge of envy. Bella's new outfit was complete, a deeper colour glowed on the robin-red dress she wore, and Fairfax felt shabby between them as he limped along into the Park under the budding trees, a child's hand on either arm.
"Cousin Antony, why are there such delicious smells to-day?"
Bella sniffed them. The spring was at work under the turf, the grass was as fragrant as a bouquet.
"Breathe it in, Cousin Antony! It makes you wish to do heaps of things you oughtn't to!"
On the pond the little craft of the school children flew about like butterflies, the sun on the miniature sails.
"What kind of things does the grass cutter, shearing off a few miserable dandelions, make you want to do,