"Freckles!" she wailed in terror, "Freckles! It is a mistake? Is it that
you don't want me?"
Freckles' head rolled on in wordless suffering.
"Wait a bit, Angel?" he panted at last. "Be giving me a little time!"
The Angel arose with controlled features. She bathed his face,
straightened his hair, and held water to his lips. It seemed a long time
before he reached toward her. Instantly she knelt again, carried his
hand to her breast, and leaned her cheek upon it.
"Tell me, Freckles," she whispered softly.
"If I can," said Freckles in agony. "It's just this. Angels are
from above. Outcasts are from below. You've a sound body and you're
beautifulest of all. You have everything that loving, careful raising
and money can give you. I have so much less than nothing that I don't
suppose I had any right to be born. It's a sure thing--nobody wanted me
afterward, so of course, they didn't before. Some of them should have
been telling you long ago."
"If that's all you have to say, Freckles, I've known that quite a
while," said the Angel stoutly.
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