"We don't
want any blood-money! We have all we need without it. If you don't feel
right and easy over it, don't you touch a cent of any of it."
"It's right I should have what me grandmother intinded for me father,
and I want it," said Freckles, "but I'd die before I'd touch a cent of
me grandfather's money!"
"Now," said the Angel, "we are all going home. We have done all we can
for Freckles. His people are here. He should know them. They are very
anxious to become acquainted with him. We'll resign him to them. When he
is well, why, then he will be perfectly free to go to Ireland or come to
the Limberlost, just as he chooses. We will go at once."
McLean held out for a week, and then he could endure it no longer.
He was heart hungry for Freckles. Communing with himself in the long,
soundful nights of the swamp, he had learned to his astonishment that
for the past year his heart had been circling the Limberlost with
Freckles. He began to wish that he had not left him. Perhaps the
boy--his boy by first right, after all--was being neglected.
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