The
Angel walked slowly across the study, sat on the rustic bench, and,
through narrowed lids, intently studied the tip of her shoe.
On the trail the Bird Woman wheeled to McLean with a dumbfounded look.
"God!" muttered he.
At last the Bird Woman spoke.
"Do you think the Angel knew she did that?" she asked softly.
"No," said McLean; "I do not. But the poor boy knew it. Heaven help
him!"
The Bird Woman stared across the gently waving swale. "I don't see how I
am going to blame her," she said at last. "It's so exactly what I would
have done myself."
"Say the remainder," demanded McLean hoarsely. "Do him justice."
"He was born a gentleman," conceded the Bird Woman. "He took no
advantage. He never even offered to touch her. Whatever that kiss meant
to him, he recognized that it was the loving impulse of a child under
stress of strong emotion. He was fine and manly as any man ever could
have been."
McLean lifted his hat. "Thank you," he said simply, and parted the
bushes for her to enter Freckles' room.
It was her first visit.
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