“Yes.”
“It is beautiful.”
“He created that statue, and many others.”
“That reminds me,” Jeanne sought out her dress suit and began searching its pockets, “an artist, an interesting man with a beard, gave me his card. He told me to visit his studio. He was going to tell me more about lights and shadows.”
“Lights and shadows?”
“Yes. How they are like life. But now I have lost his card.”
* * * * * * * *
Florence returned to the island. There she sat long in the sunshine by the rocky shore, talking with Aunt Bobby. She found the good lady greatly perplexed.
“They’ve served notice,” Aunt Bobby sighed, “the park folks have. All that is to come down.” She waved an arm toward the cottonwood thicket and the “Cathedral.” “A big building is going up. Steam shovels are working over on the west side now. Any day, now, we’ll have to pack up, Meg and me.
“And where’ll we go? Back to the ships, I suppose. I hate it for Meg. She ought to have more schoolin’. But poor folks can’t pick and choose.”