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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

It
was writ large all over the floor, walls, and furnishing of that little
Limberlost clearing.
When Duncan came, McLean told him the story of the fight, and they
laughed until they cried. Then they started around the line in search of
the tree.
Said Duncan: "Now the boy is in for sore trouble!"
"I hope not," answered McLean. "You never in all your life saw a cur
whipped so completely. He won't come back for the repetition of the
chorus. We surely can find the tree. If we can't, Freckles can. I will
bring enough of the gang to take it out at once. That will insure peace
for a time, at least, and I am hoping that in a month more the whole
gang may be moved here. It soon will be fall, and then, if he will go, I
intend to send Freckles to my mother to be educated. With his quickness
of mind and body and a few years' good help he can do anything. Why,
Duncan, I'd give a hundred-dollar bill if you could have been here and
seen for yourself."
"Yes, and I'd 'a' done murder," muttered the big teamster. "I hope, sir,
ye will make good your plans for Freckles, though I'd as soon see
ony born child o' my ain taken from our home.


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