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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

"
"My! How interesting!" she cried. "I don't know a thing about timber,
but my father wants me to learn just everything I can. I am going to ask
him to let me come here and watch you until I know enough to boss a gang
myself. Do you like to cut trees, gentlemen?" she asked with angelic
sweetness of the men.
Some of them appeared foolish and some grim, but one managed to say they
did.
Then the Angel's eyes turned full on Black Jack, and she gave the most
natural little start of astonishment.
"Oh! I almost thought that you were a ghost!" she cried. "But I see now
that you are really and truly. Were you ever in Colorado?"
"No," said Jack.
"I see you aren't the same man," said the Angel. "You know, we were in
Colorado last year, and there was a cowboy who was the handsomest man
anywhere around. He'd come riding into town every night, and all we
girls just adored him! Oh, but he was a beauty! I thought at first
glance you were really he, but I see now he wasn't nearly so tall nor so
broad as you, and only half as handsome.


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