"Why don't you write your mother to come for a visit and bring yours?"
suggested Freckles.
"I did that three days ago," acknowledged Elnora. "I am half expecting
her on the noon boat. That is one reason why this violin grows worse
every minute. There is nothing at all the matter with me."
"Splendid!" cried the Angel. "I've begged and begged her to do it. I
know how anxious these mothers become. When did you send? What made you?
Why didn't you tell me?"
"'When?' Three days ago. 'What made me?' You. 'Why didn't I tell you?'
Because I can't be sure in the least that she will come. Mother is the
most individual person. She never does what every one expects she will.
She may not come, and I didn't want you to be disappointed."
"How did I make you?" asked the Angel.
"Loving Alice. It made me realize that if you cared for your girl like
that, with Mr. O'More and three other children, possibly my mother, with
no one, might like to see me. I know I want to see her, and you had told
me to so often, I just sent for her. Oh, I do hope she comes! I want her
to see this lovely place."
"I have been wondering what you thought of Mackinac," said Freckles.
"Oh, it is a perfect picture, all of it! I should like to hang it on
the wall, so I could see it whenever I wanted to; but it isn't real, of
course; it's nothing but a picture."
"These people won't agree with you," smiled Freckles.
"That isn't necessary," retorted Elnora.
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