“Oh!” she cried, with a long breath of satisfaction.  “It’s so good!  You are more than kind to bring it!”

Freckles stood blinking in the dazzling glory of her smile until he scarcely could see to lift the basket.

“Mercy!” she exclaimed.  “I think I had better be naming you the ‘Angel.’  My Guardian Angel.”

“Yis,” said Freckles.  “I look the character every day—­but today most emphatic!”

“Angels don’t go by looks,” laughed the girl.  “Your father told us you had been scrapping.  But he told us why.  I’d gladly wear all your cuts and bruises if I could do anything that would make my father look as peacocky as yours did.  He strutted about proper.  I never saw anyone look prouder.”

“Did he say he was proud of me?” marveled Freckles.

“He didn’t need to,” answered the Angel.  “He was radiating pride from every pore.  Now, have you brought me your dinner?”

“I had my dinner two hours ago,” answered Freckles.

“Honest Injun?” bantered the Angel.

“Honest!  I brought that on purpose for you.”

“Well, if you knew how hungry I am, you would know how thankful I am, to the dot,” said the Angel.

“Then you be eating,” cried the happy Freckles.

The Angel sat on a big camera, spread the lunch on the carriage seat, and divided it in halves.  The daintiest parts she could select she carefully put back into the basket.  The remainder she ate.  Again Freckles found her of the swamp, for though she was almost ravenous, she managed her food as gracefully as his little yellow fellow, and her every movement was easy and charming.  As he watched her with famished eyes, Freckles told her of his birds, flowers, and books, and never realized what he was doing.

He led the horse to a deep pool that he knew of, and the tortured creature drank greedily, and lovingly rubbed him with its nose as he wiped down its welted body with grass.  Suddenly the Angel cried:  “There comes the Bird Woman!”

Freckles had intended leaving before she came, but now he was glad indeed to be there, for a warmer, more worn, and worse bitten creature he never had seen.  She was staggering under a load of cameras and paraphernalia.  Freckles ran to her aid.  He took all he could carry of her load, stowed it in the back of the carriage, and helped her in.  The Angel gave her water, knelt and unfastened the leggings, bathed her face, and offered the lunch.

Freckles brought the horse.  He was not sure about the harness, but the Angel knew, and soon they left the swamp.  Then he showed them how to reach the chicken tree from the outside, indicated a cooler place for the horse, and told them how, the next time they came, the Angel could find his room while she waited.

The Bird Woman finished her lunch, and lay back, almost too tired to speak.

“Were you for getting Little Chicken’s picture?” Freckles asked.