But the resemblance is very close, and very strange." "Not so strange," whispered Miriam mischievously; "for no Faun in Arcadia was ever a greater simpleton than Donatello.

He has hardly a man's share of wit, small as that may be.

It is a pity there are no longer any of this congenial race of rustic creatures for our friend to consort with!" "Hush, naughty one!" returned Hilda.

"You are very ungrateful, for you well know he has wit enough to worship you, at all events." "Then the greater fool he!" said Miriam so bitterly that Hilda's quiet eyes were somewhat startled.
"Donatello, my dear friend," said Kenyon, in Italian, "pray gratify us all by taking the exact attitude of this statue." The young man laughed, and threw himself into the position in which the statue has been standing for two or three thousand years.

In truth, allowing for the difference of costume, and if a lion's skin could have been substituted for his modern talma, and a rustic pipe for his stick, Donatello might have figured perfectly as the marble Faun, miraculously softened into flesh and blood.
"Yes; the resemblance is wonderful," observed Kenyon, after examining the marble and the man with the accuracy of a sculptor's eye.