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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

I thought if you didn't make a profession
of music, and had any inclination my way, we would stretch the
partnership one more and take you into the firm, placing your work with
me. Those plans may sound jumbled in the telling, but they have grown
steadily on me, Freckles, as you have grown dear to me."
Freckles lifted anxious and eager eyes to McLean.
"You told me once on the trail, and again when we thought that I was
dying, that you loved me. Do these things that have come to me make any
difference in any way with your feeing toward me?"
"None," said McLean. "How could they, Freckles? Nothing could make me
love you more, and you never will do anything that will make me love you
less."
"Glory be to God!" cried Freckles. "Glory to the Almighty! Hurry and
be telling your mother I'm coming! Just as soon as I can get on me feet
I'll be taking that ring to me Angel, and then I'll go to Grand Rapids
and be making me start just as you planned, only that I can be paying me
own way. When I'm educated enough, we'll all--the Angel and her father,
the Bird Woman, you, and me--all of us will go together and see me house
and me relations and be taking that trip.


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