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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"


The Angel could only nod. Freckles heaved a deep sigh of relief.
"Well, if that ain't the hardest work I ever did in me life!" he
exclaimed. "It's no wonder the Bird Woman's for coming out of the swamp
looking as if she's been through a fire, a flood, and a famine, if
that's what she goes through day after day. But if you think we got it,
why, it's worth all it took, and I'm glad as ever you are, sure!"
They put the holders in the case, carefully closed the camera, set it in
also, and carried it to the road.
Then Freckles exulted.
"Now, let's be telling the Bird Woman about it!" he shouted, wildly
dancing and swinging his hat.
"We got it! We got it! I bet a farm we got it!"
Hand in hand they ran to the north end of the swamp, yelling "We got
it!" like young Comanches, and never gave a thought to what they might
do until a big blue-gray bird, with long neck and trailing legs, arose
on flapping wings and sailed over the Limberlost.
The Angel became white to the lips and gripped Freckles with both hands.
He gulped with mortification and turned his back.


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