They started toward the cabin.  Every few minutes they stopped to investigate something or to chatter over some natural history wonder.  The Angel had quick eyes; she seemed to see everything, but Freckles’ were even quicker; for life itself had depended on their sharpness ever since the beginning of his work at the swamp.  They saw it at the same time.

“Someone has been making a flagpole,” said the Angel, running the toe of her shoe around the stump, evidently made that season.  “Freckles, what would anyone cut a tree as small as that for?”

“I don’t know,” said Freckles.

“Well, but I want to know!” said the Angel.  “No one came away here and cut it for fun.  They’ve taken it away.  Let’s go back and see if we can see it anywhere around there.”

She turned, retraced her footsteps, and began eagerly searching.  Freckles did the same.

“There it is!” he exclaimed at last, “leaning against the trunk of that big maple.”

“Yes, and leaning there has killed a patch of dried bark,” said the Angel.  “See how dried it appears?”

Freckles stared at her.

“Angel!” he shouted, “I bet you it’s a marked tree!”

“Course it is!” cried the Angel.  “No one would cut that sapling and carry it away there and lean it up for nothing.  I’ll tell you!  This is one of Jack’s marked trees.  He’s climbed up there above anyone’s head, peeled the bark, and cut into the grain enough to be sure.  Then he’s laid the bark back and fastened it with that pole to mark it.  You see, there’re a lot of other big maples close around it.  Can you climb to that place?”

“Yes,” said Freckles; “if I take off my wading-boots I can.”

“Then take them off,” said the Angel, “and do hurry!  Can’t you see that I am almost crazy to know if this tree is a marked one?”

When they pushed the sapling over, a piece of bark as big as the crown of Freckles’ hat fell away.

“I believe it looks kind of nubby,” encouraged the Angel, backing away, with her face all screwed into a twist in an effort to intensify her vision.

Freckles reached the opening, then slid rapidly to the ground.  He was almost breathless while his eyes were flashing.

“The bark’s been cut clean with a knife, the sap scraped away, and a big chip taken out deep.  The trunk is the twistiest thing you ever saw.  It’s full of eyes as a bird is of feathers!”

The Angel was dancing and shaking his hand.

“Oh, Freckles,” she cried, “I’m so delighted that you found it!”

“But I didn’t,” said the astonished Freckles.  “That tree isn’t my find; it’s yours.  I forgot it and was going on; you wouldn’t give up, and kept talking about it, and turned back.  You found it!”

“You’d best be looking after your reputation for truth and veracity,” said the Angel.  “You know you saw that sapling first!”

“Yes, after you took me back and set me looking for it,” scoffed Freckles.