She was quite a distance
away, but he could see her white lips and angry expression.
Last week he had taken her and the Bird Woman across the swamp over the
path he followed in going from his room to the chicken tree. He had told
them the night before, that the butterfly tree was on the line close to
this path. In figuring on their not coming that day, he failed to reckon
with the enthusiasm of the Bird Woman. They must be there for the study,
and the Angel had risked crossing the swamp in search of him. Or was
there something in his room they needed? The blood surged in his ears as
the roar of the Limberlost in the wrath of a storm.
He looked again, and it had been a dream. She was not there. Had she
been? For his life, Freckles could not tell whether he really had seen
the Angel, or whether his strained senses had played him the most cruel
trick of all. Or was it not the kindest? Now he could go with the vision
of her lovely face fresh with him.
"Thank You for that, oh God!" whispered Freckles. "'Twas more than kind
of You and I don't s'pose I ought to be wanting anything else; but
if You can, oh, I wish I could know before this ends, if 'twas me
mother"--Freckles could not even whisper the words, for he hesitated a
second and ended--"IF 'TWAS ME MOTHER DID IT!"
"Freckles! Freckles! Oh, Freckles!" the voice of the Angel came calling.
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