Freckles was moving briskly, and his heart was so happy that he forgot all about the bruises.  He hurried around the trail, and on his way down the east side he went to see the chickens.  The mother bird was on the nest.  He was afraid the other egg might be hatching, so he did not venture to disturb her.  He made the round and reached his study early.  He ate his lunch, but did not need to start on the second trip until the middle of the afternoon.  He would have long hours to work on his flower bed, improve his study, and learn about his chickens.  Lovingly he set his room in order and watered the flowers and carpet.  He had chosen for his resting-place the coolest spot on the west side, where there was almost always a breeze; but today the heat was so intense that it penetrated even there.

“I’m mighty glad there’s nothing calling me inside!” he said.  “There’s no bit of air stirring, and it will just be steaming.  Oh, but it’s luck Duncan found the nest before it got so unbearing hot!  I might have missed it altogether.  Wouldn’t it have been a shame to lose that sight?  The cunning little divil!  When he gets to toddling down that log to meet me, won’t he be a circus?  Wonder if he’ll be as graceful a performer afoot as his father and mother?”

The heat became more insistent.  Noon came; Freckles ate his dinner and settled for an hour or two on a bench with a book.

CHAPTER V

Wherein an Angel Materializes and a Man Worships

Perhaps there was a breath of sound—­Freckles never afterward could remember—­but for some reason he lifted his head as the bushes parted and the face of an angel looked between.  Saints, nymphs, and fairies had floated down his cathedral aisle for him many times, with forms and voices of exquisite beauty.

Parting the wild roses at the entrance was beauty of which Freckles never had dreamed.  Was it real or would it vanish as the other dreams?  He dropped his book, and rising to his feet, went a step closer, gazing intently.  This was real flesh and blood.  It was in every way kin to the Limberlost, for no bird of its branches swung with easier grace than this dainty young thing rocked on the bit of morass on which she stood.  A sapling beside her was not straighter or rounder than her slender form.  Her soft, waving hair clung around her face from the heat, and curled over her shoulders.  It was all of one piece with the gold of the sun that filtered between the branches.  Her eyes were the deepest blue of the iris, her lips the reddest red of the foxfire, while her cheeks were exactly of the same satin as the wild rose petals caressing them.  She was smiling at Freckles in perfect confidence, and she cried: 

“Oh, I’m so delighted that I’ve found you!”

The wildly leaping heart of Freckles burst from his body and fell in the black swamp-muck at her feet with such a thud that he did not understand how she could avoid hearing.  He really felt that if she looked down she would see.