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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

I'm glad past telling if you will be coming a few more times,
at least until the gang arrives. Past that time I don't allow mesilf to
be thinking."
"Come, have a cool drink before you start back," said the Angel.
"I couldn't possibly," said Freckles. "I left Mrs. Duncan on the trail,
and she's terribly afraid of a lot of things. If she even sees a big
snake, I don't know what she'll do."
"It won't take but a minute, and you can ride fast enough to make up
for it. Please. I want to think of something fine for you, to make up a
little for what you did for me that first day."
Freckles looked in sheer wonderment into the beautiful face of the
Angel. Did she truly mean it? Would she walk down that street with him,
crippled, homely, in mean clothing, with the tools of his occupation on
him, and share with him the treat she was offering? He could not believe
it, even of the Angel. Still, in justice to the candor of her pure,
sweet face, he would not think that she would make the offer and not
mean it. She really did mean just what she said, but when it came to
carrying out her offer and he saw the stares of her friends, the
sneers of her enemies--if such as she could have enemies--and heard the
whispered jeers of the curious, then she would see her mistake and be
sorry.


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