“But she is not kind,” said Lucy, with a little shiver. “She would see men drowning before her eyes, and would not put out her hand to help them. I think she took those pearl bracelets and her necklace from some poor dead girl she found floating in the sea. She wouldn’t mind; she would only care to dress herself with them.” “I won’t say but that’s my notion of her too,” said Job. “Do you know, Lucy,” he continued, in a lower voice, “I can’t help feeling as if there was something more than common in this bit of wood all the while I’ve been doing it? It seemed as if ’twa’n’t me that was making of it up, but I was jest like some kind of a machine going along on some one else’s notion. Sometimes I am half skeered at the critter myself.” “You meant to make her like Anna Jane Shuttleworth, didn’t you?” asked Lucy, suddenly. “Waal, yis, I did kind o’ mean to give her a look of Anna Jane, ’cause Torrey, he’s so set on her, but I’ve got it more like her than I meant. Somehow, it seems as if it was more like her than she is herself.” Lucy gave one more long look at the figure “I must go,” she said, with a little start. “Good-bye, Uncle Job;” and she flitted away by a side door. Just then Master Torrey came into the shop, and with him came old Colonel Shuttleworth and his daughter. Colonel Shuttleworth was a pompous, portly man, in an embroidered waistcoat, plum-colored coat and lace ruffles. “A pretty thing! a pretty thing!” he said, condescendingly. “How many guineas has she cost Master Torrey?” “You didn’t expect I was going to make her for nothing, did you, cunnel?” said Job, who stood in no awe of the old man’s wealth, clothes or title. “No, no, of course not,” said the colonel, trying to be dignified. “Um! ah! it seems to me this figure has something the look of my daughter. Anna, isn’t the new figure-head like you?” “I don’t know, sir,” said Anna, who had dropped into a seat and sat looking at nothing in particular. “She’s so delicate, so modest, she won’t notice,” thought her lover. “She is lovely, Job,” he cried aloud. “You have outdone yourself. Our sea lady is no mortal, but a goddess. She has everything noble in humanity, but none of its faults or weaknesses.” “Umph!” said Job; “I don’t know about that. I’ve heard some of them goddesses was rather queer-acted people. Anyhow, I think I’d like the women folks best, not being a heathen god myself.” “Why, Job, you don’t understand your own work,” said Master Torrey, half angrily. “She is too pure to be moved by our passions, too much exalted above humanity to be agitated by its troubles.”