"That's why I put them in," explained Jeanne, earnestly. "There ought to be. If there were a large lake in the middle of each state with all the towns on the shore, it would be much nicer. But I didn't mean to hand that map in, it was just a play map. You see, when you can't have any real water you like to make pictures of it."
"Are you lonesome for Lake Superior?"
"Oh, yes. Last Sunday, when the minister read about the Flood I just hoped it would happen again. Not enough to drown folks, you know, but enough to make a lot of beautiful big lakes—enough to go round for everybody."
"You've been to the park?"
"Yes, but the lake there isn't as big as our Cinder Pond, and its brick edges are horrid. It looks built."
"Of course it is artificial; but it's better than none."
"Ye-es," admitted Jeanne, very doubtfully. "I guess I like real ones best."
Along toward spring, when her "past" had become a little more comfortably remote, Jeanne had made a number of friends among her classmates. She had particularly liked Lizzie McCoy because Lizzie's red hair was even redder than that of the young Duvals, and her freckles more numerous than Sammy's. And Lizzie had liked Jeanne.
But when Lizzie had ventured to present herself at Mrs. Huntington's door, she had been ushered by James into the awe-inspiring reception-room, where Mrs. Huntington inspected her coldly.
"I came," explained Lizzie, nervously, "to see Jeanne."