He saw the Angel when the carriage turned from the corduroy into the clearing.  They stopped at the west entrance to the swamp, waiting for him to precede them down the trail, as he had told them it was safest for the horse that he should do.  They followed the east line to a point opposite the big chickens’ tree, and Freckles carried in the cameras and showed the Bird Woman a path he had cleared to the log.  He explained to her the effect the heat was having on the snakes, and creeping back to Little Chicken, brought him to the light.  As she worked at setting up her camera, he told her of the birds of the line, while she stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous.

They arranged that Freckles should drive the carriage into the east entrance in the shade and then take the horse toward the north to a better place he knew.  Then he was to entertain the Angel at his study or on the line until the Bird Woman finished her work and came to them.

“This will take only a little time,” she said.  “I know where to set the camera now, and Little Chicken is big enough to be good and too small to run away or to act very ugly, so I will be coming soon to see about those nests.  I have ten plates along, and I surely won’t use more than two on him; so perhaps I can get some nests or young birds this morning.”

Freckles almost flew, for his dream had come true so soon.  He was walking the timber-line and the Angel was following him.  He asked to be excused for going first, because he wanted to be sure the trail was safe for her.  She laughed at his fears, telling him that it was the polite thing for him to do, anyway.

“Oh!” said Freckles, “so you was after knowing that?  Well, I didn’t s’pose you did, and I was afraid you’d think me wanting in respect to be preceding you!”

The astonished Angel looked at him, caught the irrepressible gleam of Irish fun in his eyes, so they stood and laughed together.

Freckles did not realize how he was talking that morning.  He showed her many of the beautiful nests and eggs of the line.  She could identify a number of them, but of some she was ignorant, so they made notes of the number and color of the eggs, material, and construction of nest, color, size, and shape of the birds, and went to find them in the book.

At his room, when Freckles had lifted the overhanging bushes and stepped back for her to enter, his heart was all out of time and place.  The study was vastly more beautiful than a week previous.  The Angel drew a deep breath and stood gazing first at one side, then at another, then far down the cathedral aisle.  “It’s just fairyland!” she cried ecstatically.  Then she turned and stared at Freckles as she had at his handiwork.

“What are you planning to be?” she asked wonderingly.

“Whatever Mr. McLean wants me to,” he replied.

“What do you do most?” she asked.

“Watch me lines.”

“I don’t mean work!”