" Perry offered the suggestion, and in
his enthusiasm he forgot that in our premise I was the person
concerned; but I was not loath to let him take on himself the burden of
our perplexity.
"Is she dead?" I asked.
"I needn't get one of that kind," he solemnly replied. "Somethin' in
autumn leaves ought to be nice."
"You might do better."
"A hand-paintin', then," he ventured timidly.
I smiled on this with more approval.
"They have some be-yutiful ones at Hopedale," he said with more heart.
"The last time I was down I was lookin' at 'em. They've fine gold
frames and----"
"Why send her a picture of a tree when the finest oak in the valley is
at her door?" I protested. "Why send her a picture of a slate-colored
cow when a herd of Durhams pastures every day right under her eye?"
"That's true," Perry answered. "Hand-paintin's is meant for city
folks. But what can a fellow get? A statue!" His eyes brightened.
"That's just the thing--a statue of Washington or Lincoln or General
Grant--how's that for an idee, Mark?"
"Excellent, if you are trying to make an impression on her uncle," I
answered.
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