“Thae’s Freckles’ flow’rs,” said a tiny Scotsman, “but,” he added cheerfully, “it’s oor sweeties!”

Freckles’ face slowly flushed as he took Duncan’s cake and started toward the swamp.  While Duncan ate, Freckles told him something about the evening, as well as he could find words to express himself, and the big man was so amazed he kept forgetting the treat in his hands.

Then Freckles mounted his wheel and began a spin that terminated only when the biggest Plymouth Rock in Duncan’s coop saluted a new day, and long lines of light reddened the east.  As he rode he sang, while he sang he worshiped, but the god he tried to glorify was a dim and faraway mystery.  The Angel was warm flesh and blood.

Every time he passed the little bark-covered imprint on the trail he dismounted, removed his hat, solemnly knelt and laid his lips on the impression.  Because he kept no account himself, only the laughing-faced old man of the moon knew how often it happened; and as from the beginning, to the follies of earth that gentleman has ever been kind.

With the near approach of dawn Freckles tuned his last note.  Wearied almost to falling, he turned from the trail into the path leading to the cabin for a few hours’ rest.

CHAPTER XII

Wherein Black Jack Captures Freckles and the Angel Captures Jack

As Freckles left the trail, from the swale close the south entrance, four large muscular men arose and swiftly and carefully entered the swamp by the wagon road.  Two of them carried a big saw, the third, coils of rope and wire, and all of them were heavily armed.  They left one man on guard at the entrance.  The other three made their way through the darkness as best they could, and were soon at Freckles’ room.  He had left the swamp on his wheel from the west trail.  They counted on his returning on the wheel and circling the east line before he came there.

A little below the west entrance to Freckles’ room, Black Jack stepped into the swale, and binding a wire tightly around a scrub oak, carried it below the waving grasses, stretched it taut across the trail, and fastened it to a tree in the swamp.  Then he obliterated all signs of his work, and arranged the grass over the wire until it was so completely covered that only minute examination would reveal it.  They entered Freckles’ room with coarse oaths and jests.  In a few moments, his specimen case with its precious contents was rolled into the swamp, while the saw was eating into one of the finest trees of the Limberlost.

The first report from the man on watch was that Duncan had driven to the South camp; the second, that Freckles was coming.  The man watching was sent to see on which side the boy turned into the path; as they had expected, he took the east.  He was a little tired and his head was rather stupid, for he had not been able to sleep as he had hoped, but he was very happy.  Although he watched until his eyes ached, he could see no sign of anyone having entered the swamp.