s
face toward them it was transfigured with delight.

"You see!" he exclaimed, and began gazing again. "Oh, me Little
Chicken!" he cried. "Oh me ilegant Little Chicken! I'd be giving all me
money in the bank for you!"

Then he thought of the Angel's muff and Mrs. Duncan's hat, and added,
"or at least, all but what I'm needing bad for something else. Would you
mind stopping at the cabin a minute and showing this to Mother Duncan?"
he asked.

"Give me that little book in your pocket," said the Bird Woman.

She folded the outer edges of the proof so that it would fit into the
book, explaining as she did so its perishable nature in that state.
Freckles went hurrying ahead, and they arrived in time to see Mrs.
Duncan gazing as if awestruck, and to hear her bewildered "Weel I be
drawed on!"

Freckles and the Angel helped the Bird Woman to establish herself for a
long day at the mouth of Sleepy Snake Creek. Then she sent them away and
waited what luck would bring to her.

"Now, what shall we do?" inquired the Angel, who was a bundle of nerves
and energy.

"Would you like to go to me room awhile?" asked Freckles.

"If you don't care to very much, I'd rather not," said the Angel. "I'll
tell you. Let's go help Mrs. Duncan with dinner and play with the baby.
I love a nice, clean baby."

They started toward the cabin. Every few minutes they stopped to
investigate something or to chatter over some natural history wonder.
The Angel had quick eyes; she seemed to see everything, but Freckles'
were even quicker; for life itself had depended on their sharpness ever
since the beginning of his work at the swamp. They saw it at the same
time.

"Someone has been making a flagpole," said the Angel, running the toe of
her shoe around the stump, evidently made that season. "Freckles, what
would anyone cut a tree as small as that for?"

"I don't know," said Freckles.

"Well, but I want to know!" said the Angel. "No one came away here and
cut it for fun. They've taken it away. Let's go back and see if we can
see it anywhere around there."

She turned, retraced her footsteps, and began eagerly searching.
Freckles did the same.

"There it is!" he exclaimed at last, "leaning against the trunk of that
big maple."

"Yes, and leaning there has killed a patch of dried bark," said the
Angel. "See how dried it appears?"

Freckles stared at her.

"Angel!" he shouted, "I bet you it's a marked tree!"

"Course it is!" cried the Angel