ut there was something in it which, after a
moment's reflection, rather pleased Hazard. It was the sort of thing
which the Florentines did, and there was hardly an early church in Italy
about whose walls did not cling the colors of some such old union of art
and friendship in the service of religion. Catherine's figure was
already there. Why not place Wharton's by its side and honor the artist
who had devoted so large a share of his life to the service of the
church, with, it must be confessed, a very moderate share of worldly
profit. The longer Hazard thought of it, the less he saw to oppose. His
tastes were flattered by the idea of doing something with his own hand
that should add to the character and meaning of the building. His
imagination was so pleased with the notion that at last he gave his
consent:--"Very well, Miss Brooke! I will draw a figure for this next
vacant space, and carry it as far as I know how. If Wharton objects he
can efface it. But Miss Dudley will have to finish it for me, for I
can't paint, and Wharton would certainly stop me if I tried."

Although this pretty bargain which seemed so fair, really threw on
Esther the whole burden of writing sonnets and painting portraits for
the amusement of Catherine and Mr. Hazard, Catherine begged so hard that
she at last consented to do her best, and her consent so much delighted
Hazard that he instantly searched his books for a model to work from,
and as soon as he found one to answer his purpose, he began with
Esther's crayons to draw the cartoon of a large figure which was to
preserve under the character of St. Luke the memory of Wharton's
features. When Wharton came next to inspect Esther's work, he was told
that Mr. Hazard wished to try his hand on designing a figure for the
vacant space, and he criticised and corrected it as freely as the rest.
For such a task Hazard was almost as competent as Wharton, from the
moment the idea was once given, and in this dark corner it mattered
little whether a conventional saint were more or less correct.

Meanwhile Catherine carried off a copy of Petrarch, and instantly turned
it over to Esther, seeming to think it a matter of course that she
should do so trifling a matter as a sonnet with ease. "It won't take you
five minutes if you put your mind to it," she said. "You can do any
thing you like, and any one could make a few rhymes." Esther, willing to
please her, tried, and exhausted her patience on the first three