hat tree."

McLean was highly amused. He would have staked his life on the honesty
of either the Angel or Freckles; yet their versions of the finding of
the tree differed widely.

"Tell me, Angel," the Boss said jestingly. "I think I have a right to
know. Who really did locate that tree?"

"Freckles," she answered promptly and emphatically.

"But he says quite as positively that it was you. I don't understand."

The Angel's legal look flashed into her face. Her eyes grew tense with
earnestness. She glanced around, and seeing no towel or basin, held out
her hand for Sears to pour water over them. Then, using the skirt of her
dress to dry them, she climbed on the wagon.

"I'll tell you, word for word, how it happened," she said, "and then you
shall decide, and Freckles and I will agree with you."

When she had finished her version, "Tell us, 'oh, most learned judge!'"
she laughingly quoted, "which of us located that tree?"

"Blest if I know who located it!" exclaimed McLean. "But I have a fairly
accurate idea as to who put the blue ribbon on it."

The Boss smiled significantly at Freckles, who just had come, for they
had planned that they would instruct the company to reserve enough of
the veneer from that very tree to make the most beautiful dressing table
they could design for the Angel's share of the discovery.

"What will you have for yours?" McLean had asked of Freckles.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll be taking mine out in music
lessons--begging your pardon--voice culture," said Freckles with a
grimace.

McLean laughed, for Freckles needed to see or hear only once to absorb
learning as the thirsty earth sucks up water.

The Angel placed McLean at the head of the table. She took the foot,
with Freckles on her right, while the lumber gang, washed, brushed, and
straightened until they felt unfamiliar with themselves and each other,
filled the sides. That imposed a slight constraint. Then, too, the men
were afraid of the flowers, the polished tableware, and above all, of
the dainty grace of the Angel. Nowhere do men so display lack of good
breeding and culture as in dining. To sprawl on the table, scoop
with their knives, chew loudly, gulp coffee, and duck their heads as
snapping-turtles for every bite, had not been noticed by them until the
Angel, sitting straightly, suddenly made them remember that they,
too, were possessed of spines. Instinctively every man at the table
straightened.

CHAPTER