That the
spirit of good fellowship she radiated levied an especial tribute of its
own, and it became their delight to honor and please her.
As they raced toward the wagon--"Let me tell about the tree, please?"
she begged Freckles.
"Why, sure!" said Freckles.
He probably would have said the same to anything she suggested. When
McLean came, he found the Angel flushed and glowing, sitting on the
wagon, her hands already filled. One of the men, who was cutting a
scrub-oak, had carried to her a handful of crimson leaves. Another had
gathered a bunch of delicate marsh-grass heads for her. Someone else,
in taking out a bush, had found a daintily built and lined little nest,
fresh as when made.
She held up her treasures and greeted McLean, "Good morning, Mr. Boss of
the Limberlost!"
The gang shouted, while he bowed profoundly before her.
"Everyone listen!" cried the Angel, climbing a roll of canvas. "I have
something to say! Freckles has been guarding here over a year now, and
he presents the Limberlost to you, with every tree in it saved; for good
measure he has this morning located the rarest one of them all: the one
in from the east line, that Wessner spoke of the first day--nearest the
one you took out.
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