were tacked.
“Come in!” said a voice, and obeying, Fanny found herself in a
large, queerly furnished room, lighted from above, and occupied
by two girls. One stood before a great clay figure, in a corner. This
one was tall, with a strong face, keen eyes, short, curly hair, and a
fine head. Fanny was struck at once by this face and figure, though
the one was not handsome, and the other half hidden by a great
pinafore covered with clay. At a table where the light was clearest,
sat a frail-looking girl, with a thin face, big eyes, and pale hair, a
dreamy, absorbed little person, who bent over a block, skillfully
wielding her tools.
“Becky and Bess, how do you do? This is my friend, Fanny Shaw.
We are out on a rampage; so go on with your work, and let us lazy
ones look on and admire.”
As Polly spoke, both girls looked up and nodded, smilingly; Bess
gave Fan the one easy-chair; Becky took an artistic survey of the
new-comer, with eyes that seemed to see everything; then each
went on with her work, and all began to talk.
“You are just what I want, Polly. Pull up your sleeve, and give me
an arm while you sit; the muscles here are n’t right, and you ‘ve got
just what I want,” said Becky, slapping the round arm of the statue,
at which Fan was gazing with awe.
“How do you get on?” asked Polly, throwing off her cloak, and
rolling up her sleeves, as if going to washing.
“Slowly. The idea is working itself clear, and I follow as fast as my
hands can. Is the face better, do you think?” said Becky, taking off
a wet cloth, and showing the head of the statue.
“How beautiful it is!” cried Fanny, staring at it with increased
respect.
“What does it mean to you?” asked Rebecca, turning to her with a
sudden shine in her keen eyes.
“I don’t know whether it is meant for a saint or a muse, a goddess
or a fate; but to me it is only a beautiful woman, bigger, lovelier,
and more imposing than any woman I ever saw,” answered Fanny,
slowly, trying to express the impression the statue made upon her.
Rebecca smiled brightly, and Bess looked round to nod
approvingly, but Polly clapped her hands, and said, “Well done,
Fan! I did n’t think you ‘d get the idea so well, but you have, and I
‘m proud of your insight. Now I ‘ll tell you, for Becky will let me,
since you have paid her the compliment of understanding her
work. Some time ago we got into a famous talk about what women
should be, and Becky said she ‘d show us her idea of the coming
woman. There she is, as you say, bigger, lovelier, and more
imposing than any we see nowadays; and at the same time, she is a
true woman. See what a fine forehead, yet the mouth is both firm
and tender, as if it could say strong, wise things, as well as teach
children and kiss babies. We could n’t decide what to put in the
hands as the most appropriate symbol. What do you say?”
“Give her a sceptre: she would make a fine queen,” answered
Fanny.
“No, we have had enough of that; women have been called queens
a long time, but the kingdom given them is n’t worth ruling,”
answered Rebecca.
“I don’t think it is nowadays,” said Fanny, with a tired sort of sigh.
“Put a man’s hand in hers to help her along, then,” said Polly,
whose happy fortune it had been to find friends and helpers in
father and brothers.
“No; my woman is to stand alone, and help herself,” said Rebecca,
decidedly.
“She ‘s to be strong-minded, is she?” and Fanny’s lip curled a little
as she uttered the misused words.
“Yes, strong-minded, strong-hearted, strong-souled, and
strong-bodied; that is why I made her larger than the miserable,
pinched-up woman of our day. Strength and beauty must go
together. Don’t you think these broad shoulders can bear burdens
without breaking down, these hands work well, these eyes see