"Freckles," said McLean at last, "will you tell me, or must I set to
work in the dark and try to find the trouble?"
"Oh, I want to tell you! I must tell you, sir," shuddered Freckles.
"I cannot be bearing it the day out alone. I was coming to you when I
remimbered you would be here."
He lifted his face and gazed across the swale, with his jaws set firmly
a minute, as if gathering his forces. Then he spoke.
"It's the Angel, sir," he said.
Instinctively McLean's grip on him tightened, and Freckles looked into
the Boss's face in wonder.
"I tried, the other day," said Freckles, "and I couldn't seem to make
you see. It's only that there hasn't been an hour, waking or sleeping,
since the day she parted the bushes and looked into me room, that the
face of her hasn't been before me in all the tinderness, beauty, and
mischief of it. She talked to me friendly like. She trusted me entirely
to take right care of her. She helped me with things about me books. She
traited me like I was born a gintleman, and shared with me as if I were
of her own blood.
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