"I suppose you think you will look like her then," was his retort.

"Now, Maurice, I don't. I know I am not pretty." Katharine's round face
grew suddenly long, and tears filled her blue eyes.

"Don't be a goose, then. I'll tell you what she made me think of, that
statue of Joan of Arc--don't you remember? Where she is listening to the
voices? We saw it at the Academy of Fine Arts."

"Why, Maurice, how funny! She is much prettier than that," said
Katherine.




CHAPTER THIRD.

FRIENDSHIP.

"True it is that we have seen better days."


A rambling, sleepy town was Friendship, with few aspirations beyond the
traditions of its grandfathers and a fine indifference toward modern
improvements.

During the era of monstrous creations in black walnut it had clung to its
old mahogany and rosewood, and chromos had never displaced in its
affections the time-worn colored prints of little Samuel or flower-decked