"What of it?" says Sadie.
"That," says she, pointin' to the snow lady. "She'll be gone forever. Oh, it's wicked, wicked!"
"Well," says I, "she's too big to go in the ice box."
"Never mind, dear," says Mrs. Purdy Pell; "you shall stay right here and do another one, in solid marble. I'll give you a thousand for a duplicate of that."
"And then you must do something for me," says Sadie.
"And me, too," says Mrs. Dicky Madison.
I didn't wait to hear any more, for boostin' lady sculpturesses ain't my reg'lar work. But, from all I hear of Cornelia Ann, she won't paste labels in any broom fact'ry.
For your simple liver and slow quitter, art's all right; but it's a long shot, at that. What?