When he struck into the
chorus, wide-eyed and panting, she was swaying toward him and playing
with all her might.
"Oh, do you love? Oh, say you love
You love the shamrock green!"
At the last note, Freckles' voice ceased and he looked at the Angel. He
had given his best and his all. He fell on his knees and folded his arms
across his breast. The Angel, as if magnetized, walked straight down the
aisle to him, and running her fingers into the crisp masses of his red
hair, tilted his head back and laid her lips on his forehead.
Then she stepped back and faced him. "Good boy!" she said, in a voice
that wavered from the throbbing of her shaken heart. "Dear boy! I knew
you could do it! I knew it was in you! Freckles, when you go into the
world, if you can face a big audience and sing like that, just once, you
will be immortal, and anything you want will be yours."
"Anything!" gasped Freckles.
"Anything," said the Angel.
Freckles arose, muttered something, and catching up his old bucket,
plunged into the swamp blindly on a pretence of bringing water.
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