makes me think of angels most of anything I know of, and that is soap suds. When I'm a washin' and the suds is a flyin', why it 'pears to me I could write poetry, there's somethin' so mighty inspirin' in 'em. All them little bubbles look so pure and white, it seems to me there must be an angel imprisoned in every one on 'em, and I want to let 'em out."
It is sometimes a rest and diversion to meet with a person so careless of the future and satisfied with the present in all its phases, especially when mingled with so much common sense as Kate displayed.
To Milly's weary brain it brought relief, the friction of the contact being just what she needed. Kate found enough to amuse her in the few sentences she had just written in the form of an essay, and submitted to her judgment as if she were a chosen friend to advise, instead of a thoughtless humorist.
"I always knew you'd turn into a parson or philosopher 'fore you got through. You are sentimental enough to write a whole budget of novels, but you ain't got the romance, or fun, or somethin' to carry it on with, such as knockin'—a feller down for sport. You'd make it too sober. I'll warrant you'd have deaths enough in it to plant a seminary. You like fun as well as anybody when it's ready made for you, but you don't know how to make it. Now 'spose you and I should go in company, I'd make a hero out of Sykes' and you could make a dozen out of Miss Rosalind, and we'd smash up a great business under the firm of 'Milly & Kate, wholesale and retail book-makers.' it would be well enough to have a little moralizin' now and then by
