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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

He tugged at the ropes whenever
he felt that he dared, but they were passed around the tree and his body
several times, and knotted on his chest. He was helpless. There was no
hope, no help. And after they had conspired to make him appear a runaway
thief to his loved ones, what was it that Wessner would do to him?
Whatever it was, Freckles lifted his head and resolved that he would
bear in mind what he had once heard the Bird Woman say. He would go out
bonnily. Never would he let them see, if he grew afraid. After all, what
did it matter what they did to his body if by some scheme of the devil
they could encompass his disgrace?
Then hope suddenly rose high in Freckles' breast. They could not do
that! The Angel would not believe. Neither would McLean. He would keep
up his courage. Kill him they could; dishonor him they could not.
Yet, summon all the fortitude he might, that saw eating into the tree
rasped his nerves worse and worse. With whirling brain he gazed into
the Limberlost, searching for something, he knew not what, and in blank
horror found his eyes focusing on the Angel.


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