But the fair young face and divinely molded form
of the Angel were His most perfect work of all. Never had she appeared
so surpassingly beautiful. She was smiling encouragingly now, and as she
came toward him, she struck the chords full and strong.
The heart of poor Freckles almost burst with dull pain and his great
love for her. In his desire to fulfill her expectations he forgot
everything else, and when she reached his initial chord he was ready. He
literally burst forth:
"Three little leaves of Irish green,
United on one stem,
Love, truth, and valor do they mean,
They form a magic gem."
The Angel's eyes widened curiously and her lips parted. A deep color
swept into her cheeks. She had intended to arouse him. She had more than
succeeded. She was too young to know that in the effort to rouse a man,
women frequently kindle fires that they neither can quench nor control.
Freckles was looking over her head now and singing that song, as it
never had been sung before, for her alone; and instead of her helping
him, as she had intended, he was carrying her with him on the waves
of his voice, away, away into another world.
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