"Me mother! Oh, me mother! Can you ever be forgiving me? Oh, me
beautiful little mother!" chanted Freckles over and over in exalted
wonder, until he was so completely exhausted that his lips refused to
form the question in his weary eyes.
"Wait!" cried the Angel with inborn refinement, for she could no more
answer that question than he could ask. "Wait, I will write it!"
She hurried to the table, caught up the nurse's pencil, and on the back
of a prescription tablet scrawled it: "Terence Maxwell O'More, Dunderry
House, County Clare, Ireland."
Before she had finished came Freckles' voice: "Angel, are you hurrying?"
"Yes," said the Angel; "I am. But there is a good deal of it. I have to
put in your house and country, so that you will feel located."
"Me house?" marveled Freckles.
"Of course," said the Angel. "Your uncle says your grandmother left your
father her dower house and estate, because she knew his father would cut
him off. You get that, and all your share of your grandfather's property
besides. It is all set off for you and waiting.
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