Freckles turned his wheel into the street.  It seemed to him he had poured that delicious icy liquid into every vein in his body instead of his stomach.  It even went to his brain.

“Did you insist on fixing that drink because you knew how intoxicating ’twould be?” he asked.

There was subtlety in the compliment and it delighted the Angel.  She laughed gleefully.

“Next time, maybe you won’t take so much coaxing,” she teased.

“I wouldn’t this, if I had known your father and been understanding you better.  Do you really think the Bird Woman will be coming again?”

The Angel jeered.  “Wild horses couldn’t drag her away,” she cried.  “She will have hard work to wait the week out.  I shouldn’t be in the least surprised to see her start any hour.”

Freckles could not endure the suspense; it had to come.

“And you?” he questioned, but he dared not lift his eyes.

“Wild horses me, too,” she laughed, “couldn’t keep me away either!  I dearly love to come, and the next time I am going to bring my banjo, and I’ll play, and you sing for me some of the songs I like best; won’t you?”

“Yis,” said Freckles, because it was all he was capable of saying just then.

“It’s beginning to act stormy,” she said.  “If you hurry you will just about make it.  Now, good-bye.”

CHAPTER IX

Wherein the Limberlost Falls upon Mrs. Duncan and Freckles Comes to the Rescue

Freckles was halfway to the Limberlost when he dismounted.  He could ride no farther, because he could not see the road.  He sat under a tree, and, leaning against it, sobs shook, twisted, and rent him.  If they would remind him of his position, speak condescendingly, or notice his hand, he could endure it, but this—­it surely would kill him!  His hot, pulsing Irish blood was stirred deeply.  What did they mean?  Why did they do it?  Were they like that to everyone?  Was it pity?

It could not be, for he knew that the Bird Woman and the Angel’s father must know that he was not really McLean’s son, and it did not matter to them in the least.  In spite of accident and poverty, they evidently expected him to do something worth while in the world.  That must be his remedy.  He must work on his education.  He must get away.  He must find and do the great thing of which the Angel talked.  For the first time, his thoughts turned anxiously toward the city and the beginning of his studies.  McLean and the Duncans spoke of him as “the boy,” but he was a man.  He must face life bravely and act a man’s part.  The Angel was a mere child.  He must not allow her to torture him past endurance with her frank comradeship that meant to him high heaven, earth’s richness, and all that lay between, and nothing to her.