Or is this
some especial tree that Mr. McLean needs to fill an order right now?"
Freckles hesitated. Would a man dare lie to save himself? No. But to
save the Angel--surely that was different. He opened his lips, but the
Angel was capable of saving herself. She walked among them, exactly as
if she had been reared in a lumber camp, and never waited for an answer.
"Why, your specimen case!" she cried. "Look! Haven't you noticed that
it's tipped over? Set it straight, quickly!"
A couple of the men stepped out and carefully righted the case.
"There! That's better," she said. "Freckles, I'm surprised at your being
so careless. It would be a shame to break those lovely butterflies for
one old tree! Is that a valuable tree? Why didn't you tell us last night
you were going to take out a tree this morning? Oh, say, did you put
your case there to protect that tree from that stealing old Black Jack
and his gang? I bet you did! Well, if that wasn't bright! What kind of a
tree is it?"
"It's a white oak," said Freckles.
"Like those they make dining-tables and sideboards from?"
"Yes.
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