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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

"
"I do hope so," shivered Freckles.
With one accord they arose to their knees and trained their eyes on
the mouth of the log. The light was full and strong. Little Chicken
prospected again with no results. He dressed his plumage, polished his
beak, and when he felt fine and in full toilet he began to flirt with
himself. Freckles' eyes snapped and his breath sucked between his
clenched teeth.
"He's going to do it!" whispered the Angel. "That will come next. You'll
best give me that bulb!"
"Yis," assented Freckles, but he was looking at the log and he made no
move to relinquish the bulb.
Little Chicken nodded daintily and ruffled his feathers. He gave his
head sundry little sidewise jerks and rapidly shifted his point of
vision. Once there was the fleeting little ghost of a smirk.
"Now!--No!" snapped the Angel.
Freckles leaned toward the bird. Tensely he waited. Unconsciously the
hand of the Angel clasped his. He scarcely knew it was there. Suddenly
Little Chicken sprang straight in the air and landed with a thud.


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