Then you'll
understand that things could be very different from what you always have
tortured yourself with thinking. Are you strong enough to listen? May I
tell you?"
"Maybe 'twasn't me mother! Maybe someone else made those little
stitches!"
"Now, goosie, don't you begin that," said the Angel, "because I know
that it was!"
"Know!" cried Freckles, his head springing from the pillow. "Know! How
can you know?"
The Angel gently soothed him back.
"Why, because nobody else would ever sit and do it the way it is done.
That's how I know," she said emphatically. "Now you listen while I tell
you about this lost boy and his people, who have hunted for months and
can't find him."
Freckles lay quietly under her touch, but he did not hear a word that
she was saying until his roving eyes rested on her face; he immediately
noticed a remarkable thing. For the first time she was talking to him
and avoiding his eyes. That was not like the Angel at all. It was the
delight of hearing her speak that she looked one squarely in the face
and with perfect frankness.
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