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.