“Oh Freckles,” she cried as she came to him.  “I was wondering about you the other day.  Do you know I never saw you in town before.  You watch that old line so closely!  Why did you come?  Is there any trouble?  Are you just starting to the Limberlost?”

“I came to bring your hat,” said Freckles.  “You forgot it in the rush the other day.  I have left it with your father, and a message trying to ixpriss the gratitude of me for how you and the Bird Woman were for helping me out.”

The Angel nodded gravely, then Freckles saw that he had done the proper thing in going to her father.  His heart bounded until it jarred his body, for she was saying that she scarcely could wait for the time to come for the next picture of the Little Chicken series.  “I want to hear the remainder of that song, and I hadn’t even begun seeing your room yet,” she complained.  “As for singing, if you can sing like that every day, I never can get enough of it.  I wonder if I couldn’t bring my banjo and some of the songs I like best.  I’ll play and you sing, and we’ll put the birds out of commission.”

Freckles stood on the curb with drooped eyes, for he felt that if he lifted them the tumult of tender adoration in them would show and frighten her.

“I was afraid your ixperience the other day would scare you so that you’d never be coming again,” he found himself saying.

The Angel laughed gaily.

“Did I seem scared?” she questioned.

“No,” said Freckles, “you did not.”

“Oh, I just enjoyed that,” she cried.  “Those hateful, stealing old things!  I had a big notion to pink one of them, but I thought maybe someway it would be best for you that I shouldn’t.  They needed it.  That didn’t scare me; and as for the Bird Woman, she’s accustomed to finding snakes, tramps, cross dogs, sheep, cattle, and goodness knows what!  You can’t frighten her when she’s after a picture.  Did they come back?”

“No,” said Freckles.  “The gang got there a little after noon and took out the tree, but I must tell you, and you must tell the Bird Woman, that there’s no doubt but they will be coming back, and they will have to make it before long now, for it’s soon the gang will be there to work on the swamp.”

“Oh, what a shame!” cried the Angel.  “They’ll clear out roads, cut down the beautiful trees, and tear up everything.  They’ll drive away the birds and spoil the cathedral.  When they have done their worst, then all these mills close here will follow in and take out the cheap timber.  Then the landowners will dig a few ditches, build some fires, and in two summers more the Limberlost will be in corn and potatoes.”

They looked at each other, and groaned despairingly in unison.

“You like it, too,” said Freckles.

“Yes,” said the Angel, “I love it.  Your room is a little piece right out of the heart of fairyland, and the cathedral is God’s work, not yours.  You only found it and opened the door after He had it completed.  The birds, flowers, and vines are all so lovely.  The Bird Woman says it is really a fact that the mallows, foxfire, iris, and lilies are larger and of richer coloring there than in the remainder of the country.  She says it’s because of the rich loam and muck.  I hate seeing the swamp torn up, and to you it will be like losing your best friend; won’t it?”