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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa 25 Colby raised one eyebrow so I stormed off to class. Miss Larkin stopped me in the hall and asked if I had made any progress on my essay. "Not yet," I admitted. I didn't let on about my first draft. "Have you chosen a topic?" she asked. "I think I'll write about the Mona Lisa," I said. "She's in the Louvre." Miss Larkin lit up her eyes. "That's a great idea," she said. She touched her finger to her lips. "And I know someone who might help-Mr. Morris, the artist. He used to be a professor of fine art at Columbia and I suspect he knows all about the Louvre. I'll be at his studio today and I could ask him if he'd be willing to give you a few ideas. Would you like that?" I don't mind saying that I suddenly felt like a pea out of its pod. I couldn't imagine what I would say to someone from New York-especially a real artist who sold paintings at fancy galleries and sipped wine and ate cheeses that aren't even yellow. "I guess so," I mumbled. "Good. I'll ask him if he'll help." I have to admit that my eyes almost popped out of my head when Miss Larkin said she was going to be at Mr. Morris' studio. You see, it wasn't long after Mr. Morris moved to Willard before folks started talking about all the fine ladies that came to stay with him on his farm. All of them were a lot younger than Mr. Morris-a whole lot younger. And pretty, too. Well, one day somebody claimed they had been to a gallery in New York and had seen paintings by Mr. Morris. The person bragged about how nice his paintings were and how great he made Willard County look-the way artists do with pretty landscape |