“Only an hour’s ride from here.”
“We shall go there some time, you and I.
“But Jensie—” The little French girl was all business now. “To-morrow I must go out to the lot.”
“The lot?”
“Where they make moving pictures. Will you go with me?”
“I’d love to.”
“Will you help me? Will you tell me if the trees are wrong, if the porch on the cabin is right, if the old mountaineer says his lines right?”
“I—I’ll do all I can.”
“Jensie,” Jeanne threw her arms about her. “You are a dear! We will make a picture, oh, such a marvelous picture of the land where your great Lincoln was born. And I—I shall be famous as—as Lorena LeMar. And you, ah, well, I shall not tell you now, but if we succeed you shall have something so very wonderful!”
Releasing her little mountain friend, she went flying away down the dark room in a wild gypsy dance.