He hid it
away among his papers and never told a soul. A few months ago he died.
When his elder son went to settle his business, he found the letter
almost the first thing. He dropped everything, and came, with his wife,
to hunt that baby, because he always had loved his brother dearly, and
wanted him back. He had hunted for him all he dared all these years, but
when he got here you were gone--I mean the baby was gone, and I had to
tell you, Freckles, for you see, it might have happened to you like that
just as easy as to that other lost boy."
Freckles reached up and turned the Angel's face until he compelled her
eyes to meet his.
"Angel," he asked quietly, "why don't you look at me when you are
telling about that lost boy?"
"I--I didn't know I wasn't," faltered the Angel.
"It seems to me," said Freckles, his breath beginning to come in sharp
wheezes, "that you got us rather mixed, and it ain't like you to be
mixing things till one can't be knowing. If they were telling you so
much, did they say which hand was for being off that lost boy?"
The Angel's eyes escaped again.
Pages:
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384