hy,
Duncan, I'd give a hundred-dollar bill if you could have been here and
seen for yourself."

"Yes, and I'd 'a' done murder," muttered the big teamster. "I hope, sir,
ye will make good your plans for Freckles, though I'd as soon see
ony born child o' my ain taken from our home. We love the lad, me and
Sarah."

Locating the tree was easy, because it was so well identified. When
the rumble of the big lumber wagons passing the cabin on the way to the
swamp wakened Freckles next morning, he sprang up and was soon following
them. He was so sore and stiff that every movement was torture at first,
but he grew easier, and shortly did not suffer so much. McLean scolded
him for coming, yet in his heart triumphed over every new evidence of
fineness in the boy.

The tree was a giant maple, and so precious that they almost dug it out
by the roots. When it was down, cut in lengths, and loaded, there was
yet an empty wagon. As they were gathering up their tools to go, Duncan
said: "There's a big hollow tree somewhere mighty close here that I've
been wanting for a watering-trough for my stock; the one I have is so
small. The Portland company cut this for elm butts last year, and it's
six feet diameter and hollow for forty feet. It was a buster! While the
men are here and there is an empty wagon, why mightn't I load it on and
tak' it up to the barn as we pass?"

McLean said he was very willing, ordered the driver to break line and
load the log, detailing men to assist. He told Freckles to ride on a
section of the maple with him, but now the boy asked to enter the swamp
with Duncan.

"I don't see why you want to go," said McLean. "I have no business to
let you out today at all."

"It's me chickens," whispered Freckles in distress. "You see, I was just
after finding yesterday, from me new book, how they do be nesting in
hollow trees, and there ain't any too many in the swamp. There's just a
chance that they might be in that one."

"Go ahead," said McLean. "That's a different story. If they happen to be
there, why tell Duncan he must give up the tree until they have finished
with it."

Then he climbed on a wagon and was driven away. Freckles hurried into
the swamp. He was a little behind, yet he could see the men. Before he
overtook them, they had turned from the west road and had entered the
swamp toward the east.

They stopped at the trunk of a monstrous prostrate log. It had been cut
three feet from the ground, over three