Then Freckles added to wheat and crumbs, every scrap of refuse food he could find at the cabin.  He carried to his pets the parings of apples, turnips, potatoes, stray cabbage-leaves, and carrots, and tied to the bushes meat-bones having scraps of fat and gristle.  One morning, coming to his feeding-ground unusually early, he found a gorgeous cardinal and a rabbit side by side sociably nibbling a cabbage-leaf, and that instantly gave to him the idea of cracking nuts, from the store he had gathered for Duncan’s children, for the squirrels, in the effort to add them to his family.  Soon he had them coming—­red, gray, and black; then he became filled with a vast impatience that he did not know their names or habits.

So the winter passed.  Every week McLean rode to the Limberlost; never on the same day or at the same hour.  Always he found Freckles at his work, faithful and brave, no matter how severe the weather.

The boy’s earnings constituted his first money; and when the Boss explained to him that he could leave them safe at a bank and carry away a scrap of paper that represented the amount, he went straight on every payday and made his deposit, keeping out barely what was necessary for his board and clothing.  What he wanted to do with his money he did not know, but it gave to him a sense of freedom and power to feel that it was there—­it was his and he could have it when he chose.  In imitation of McLean, he bought a small pocket account-book, in which he carefully set down every dollar he earned and every penny he spent.  As his expenses were small and the Boss paid him generously, it was astonishing how his little hoard grew.

That winter held the first hours of real happiness in Freckles’ life.  He was free.  He was doing a man’s work faithfully, through every rigor of rain, snow, and blizzard.  He was gathering a wonderful strength of body, paying his way, and saving money.  Every man of the gang and of that locality knew that he was under the protection of McLean, who was a power, this had the effect of smoothing Freckles’ path in many directions.

Mrs. Duncan showed him that individual kindness for which his hungry heart was longing.  She had a hot drink ready for him when he came from a freezing day on the trail.  She knit him a heavy mitten for his left hand, and devised a way to sew and pad the right sleeve that protected the maimed arm in bitter weather.  She patched his clothing—­frequently torn by the wire—­and saved kitchen scraps for his birds, not because she either knew or cared anything about them, but because she herself was close enough to the swamp to be touched by its utter loneliness.  When Duncan laughed at her for this, she retorted:  “My God, mannie, if Freckles hadna the birds and the beasts he would be always alone.  It was never meant for a human being to be so solitary.  He’d get touched in the head if he hadna them to think for and to talk to.”

“How much answer do ye think he gets to his talkin’, lass?” laughed Duncan.