shaking fingers. The Angel had called him her knight!
Dear Lord, how he loved her! She must not see his face, or surely her
quick eyes would read what he was fighting to hide. He did not dare lay
his lips on that ribbon then, but that night he would return to it. When
they had gone a little distance, they both looked back, and the morning
breeze set the bit of blue waving them a farewell.

They walked at a rapid pace.

"I am sorry about scaring the birds," said the Angel, "but it's almost
time for them to go anyway. I feel dreadfully over having the swamp
ruined, but isn't it a delight to hear the good, honest ring of those
axes, instead of straining your ears for stealthy sounds? Isn't it
fine to go openly and freely, with nothing worse than a snake or a
poison-vine to fear?"

"Ah!" said Freckles, with a long breath, "it's better than you can
dream, Angel. Nobody will ever be guessing some of the things I've been
through trying to keep me promise to the Boss, and to hold out until
this day. That it's come with only one fresh stump, and the log from
that saved, and this new tree to report, isn't it grand? Maybe Mr.
McLean will be forgetting that stump when he sees this tree, Angel!"

"He can't forget it," said the Angel; and in answer to Freckles'
startled eyes she added, "because he never had any reason to remember
it. He couldn't have done a whit better himself. My father says so.
You're all right, Freckles!"

She reached him her hand, and as two children, they broke into a run
when they came closer the gang. They left the swamp by the west road
and followed the trail until they found the men. To the Angel it seemed
complete charm. In the shadiest spot on the west side of the line, at
the edge of the swamp and very close Freckles' room, they were
cutting bushes and clearing space for a big tent for the men's
sleeping-quarters, another for a dining-hall, and a board shack for the
cook. The teamsters were unloading, the horses were cropping leaves from
the bushes, while each man was doing his part toward the construction of
the new Limberlost quarters.

Freckles helped the Angel climb on a wagonload of canvas in the shade.
She removed her leggings, wiped her heated face, and glowed with
happiness and interest.

The gang had been sifted carefully. McLean now felt that there was not a
man in it who was not trustworthy.

They all had heard of the Angel's plucky ride for Freckles' relief;
several of them had been