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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"


"I believe it looks kind of nubby," encouraged the Angel, backing away,
with her face all screwed into a twist in an effort to intensify her
vision.
Freckles reached the opening, then slid rapidly to the ground. He was
almost breathless while his eyes were flashing.
"The bark's been cut clean with a knife, the sap scraped away, and a big
chip taken out deep. The trunk is the twistiest thing you ever saw. It's
full of eyes as a bird is of feathers!"
The Angel was dancing and shaking his hand.
"Oh, Freckles," she cried, "I'm so delighted that you found it!"
"But I didn't," said the astonished Freckles. "That tree isn't my find;
it's yours. I forgot it and was going on; you wouldn't give up, and kept
talking about it, and turned back. You found it!"
"You'd best be looking after your reputation for truth and veracity,"
said the Angel. "You know you saw that sapling first!"
"Yes, after you took me back and set me looking for it," scoffed
Freckles.
The clear, ringing echo of strongly swung axes came crashing through the
Limberlost.


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