She
was before a quaint old house, fresh with paint and covered with vines.
There was a long wide lot, grass-covered, closely set with trees, and
a barn and chicken park at the back that seemed to be occupied. Elnora
stepped on the veranda which was furnished with straw rugs, bent-hickory
chairs, hanging baskets, and a table with a work-box and magazines, and
knocked at the screen door.
Inside she could see polished floors, walls freshly papered in low-toned
harmonious colours, straw rugs and madras curtains. It seemed to be a
restful, homelike place to which she had come. A second later down an
open stairway came a tall, dark-eyed woman with cheeks faintly pink and
a crown of fluffy snow-white hair. She wore a lavender gingham dress
with white collar and cuffs, and she called as she advanced: "That
screen isn't latched! Open it and come see your brand-new mother, my
girl."
Elnora stepped inside the door. "Mother!" she cried. "You my mother! I
don't believe it!"
"Well, you better!" said Mrs. Comstock, "because it's true! You said you
wished I were like the other girls' mothers, and I've shot as close the
mark as I could without any practice. I thought that walk would be too
much for you this winter, so I just rented this house and moved in, to
be near you, and help more in case I'm needed. I've only lived here a
day, but I like it so well I've a mortal big notion to buy the place."
"But mother!" protested Elnora, clinging to her wonderingly.
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