"Of the little girl Miss Alwood is to have, and whether I shall like her. Of course, she will not be like the Estenegas. And it seems queer to have a new mother who isn't a real mother."
"You will understand that better by and by."
Laverne nodded. She could never have a new mother. She wondered a little about her father. Uncle Jason never spoke of him. Of course he was dead also.
Mrs. Dawson was very anxious to give Miss Alwood a wedding feast, and indeed was fain to have her married in the parlor, but she preferred the church. Mr. Personette was well known, and the church was crowded. The two daughters walked in front and strewed flowers in their path, there were congratulations and good wishes, and a luncheon at the Dawson House, when the new husband and wife took a short journey, and ended the festivities by a reception at their own home.
Laverne thought it was very fine to have a new white frock, lace-trimmed, and a knot of blue ribbons on one shoulder, with long streamers. Isabel Personette was tall of her age, and quite a young lady, rather pretty. Olive had large, dark eyes, and shining chestnut hair, was round, plump, and merry-looking.
"Our new mother has been telling us about you," she began, grasping Laverne's hand. "And that you came from Maine with her. What a long, long journey. Weren't you awfully afraid? I looked up Maine on the map. But you had to go round the Horn. What did it look like?"
"It's a cape, you know."
"But—I supposed there was something," in a surprised tone. "Perhaps they blew a horn?"
"They didn't do anything as I remember," and Laverne smiled a little.
"I've never been farther than Monterey. But father went up to British Columbia once. It is desperately cold up there. And there is a Russian country where it is colder still. And you have snows in Maine."