looking like death and nothing short of it."

"But where does he go?" asked McLean in astonishment.

"I'm no given to bearing tales out of school," said Sarah Duncan, "but
in this case I'd tell ye if I could. What the trouble is I dinna ken. If
it is no' stopped, he's in for dreadful sickness, and I thought ye could
find out and help him. He's in sair trouble; that's all I know."

McLean sat brooding as he stroked Nellie's neck.

At last he said: "I suspect I understand. At any rate, I think I can
find out. Thank you for telling me."

"Ye'll no need telling, once ye clap your eyes on him," prophesied
Mrs. Duncan. "His face is all a glist'ny yellow, and he's peaked as a
starving caged bird."

McLean rode to the Limberlost, and stopping in the shade, sat waiting
for Freckles, whose hour for passing the foot of the lease had come.

Along the north line came Freckles, fairly staggering. When he turned
east and reached Sleepy Snake Creek, sliding through the swale as the
long black snake for which it was named, he sat on the bridge and closed
his burning eyes, but they would not remain shut. As if pulled by wires,
the heavy lids flew open, while the outraged nerves and muscles of his
body danced, twitched, and tingled.

He bent forward and idly watched the limpid little stream flowing
beneath his feet. Stretching into the swale, it came creeping between
an impenetrable wall of magnificent wild flowers, vines, and ferns.
Milkweed, goldenrod, ironwort, fringed gentians, cardinal-flowers, and
turtle-head stood on the very edge of the creek, and every flower of
them had a double in the water. Wild clematis crowned with snow the
heads of trees scattered here and there on the bank.

From afar the creek appeared to be murky, dirty water. Really it was
clear and sparkling. The tinge of blackness was gained from its bed of
muck showing through the transparent current. He could see small and
wonderfully marked fish. What became of them when the creek spread into
the swamp? For one thing, they would make mighty fine eating for the
family of that self-satisfied old blue heron.

Freckles sat so quietly that soon the brim of his hat was covered with
snake-feeders, rasping their crisp wings and singing while they rested.
Some of them settled on the club, and one on his shoulder. He was so
motionless; feathers, fur, and gauze were so accustomed to him, that
all through the swale they continued their daily life and forgot he was
t