What was it I told ye?"
"You told me that the Scotch had the hardest heads and the softest
hearts of any people that's living," answered Freckles.
Duncan grunted in gratified disapproval.
Freckles picked up his club and started down the line, whistling
cheerily, for he had an unusually long repertoire upon which to draw.
Duncan went straight to the lower camp, and calling McLean aside,
repeated the conversation verbatim, ending: "And nae matter what happens
now or ever, dinna ye dare let onythin' make ye believe that Freckles
hasna guarded faithful as ony man could."
"I don't think anything could shake my faith in the lad," answered
McLean.
Freckles was whistling merrily. He kept one eye religiously on the line.
The other he divided between the path, his friends of the wire, and a
search of the sky for his latest arrivals. Every day since their coming
he had seen them, either hanging as small, black clouds above the swamp
or bobbing over logs and trees with their queer, tilting walk. Whenever
he could spare time, he entered the swamp and tried to make friends
with them, for they were the tamest of all his unnumbered subjects.
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