“It’s hungry for human beings I am,” said Freckles, “and it’s like Heaven to me to have them come.  Of course, I’ll be telling or sending her word every time me work can spare me.  Anything I can do it would make me uncommon happy, but”—­again truth had to be told, because it was Freckles who was speaking—­“when it comes to protecting them, I’d risk me life, to be sure, but even that mightn’t do any good in some cases.  There are many dangers to be reckoned with in the swamp, sir, that call for every person to look sharp.  If there wasn’t really thieving to guard against, why, McLean wouldn’t need be paying out good money for a guard.  I’d love them to be coming, and I’ll do all I can, but you must be told that there’s danger of them running into timber thieves again any day, sir.”

“Yes,” said the Angel’s father, “and I suppose there’s danger of the earth opening up and swallowing the town any day, but I’m damned if I quit business for fear it will, and the Bird Woman won’t, either.  Everyone knows her and her work, and there is no danger in the world of anyone in any way molesting her, even if he were stealing a few of McLean’s gold-plated trees.  She’s as safe in the Limberlost as she is at home, so far as timber thieves are concerned.  All I am ever uneasy about are the snakes, poison-vines, and insects; and those are risks she must run anywhere.  You need not hesitate a minute about that.  I shall be glad to tell them what you wish.  Thank you very much, and good day, sir.”

There was no way in which Freckles could know it, but by following his best instincts and being what he conceived a gentleman should be, he surprised the Man of Affairs into thinking of him and seeing his face over his books many times that morning; whereas, if he had gone to the Angel as he had longed to do, her father never would have given him a second thought.

On the street he drew a deep breath.  How had he acquitted himself?  He only knew that he had lived up to his best impulse, and that is all anyone can do.  He glanced over his wheel to see that it was all right, and just as he stepped to the curb to mount he heard a voice that thrilled him through and through:  “Freckles!  Oh Freckles!”

The Angel separated from a group of laughing, sweet-faced girls and came hurrying to him.  She was in snowy white—­a quaint little frock, with a marvel of soft lace around her throat and wrists.  Through the sheer sleeves of it her beautiful, rounded arms showed distinctly, and it was cut just to the base of her perfect neck.  On her head was a pure white creation of fancy braid, with folds on folds of tulle, soft and silken as cobwebs, lining the brim; while a mass of white roses clustered against the gold of her hair, crept around the crown, and fell in a riot to her shoulders at the back.  There were gleams of gold with settings of blue on her fingers, and altogether she was the daintiest, sweetest sight he ever had seen.  Freckles, standing on the curb, forgot himself in his cotton shirt, corduroys, and his belt to which his wire-cutter and pliers were hanging, and gazed as a man gazes when first he sees the woman he adores with all her charms enhanced by appropriate and beautiful clothing.