st a year, why, what's that
to me, sir? You mustn't let a woman get mixed up with business, for I've
always heard about how it's bringing trouble."

McLean smiled. "What about that last tree?" he said.

Freckles blushed and grinned appreciatively.

"Angels and Bird Women don't count in the common run, sir," he affirmed
shamelessly.

McLean sat in the saddle and laughed.

CHAPTER X

Wherein Freckles Strives Mightily and the Swamp Angel Rewards Him

The Bird Woman and the Angel did not seem to count in the common run,
for they arrived on time for the third of the series and found McLean on
the line talking to Freckles. The Boss was filled with enthusiasm over a
marsh article of the Bird Woman's that he just had read. He begged to
be allowed to accompany her into the swamp and watch the method by which
she secured an illustration in such a location.

The Bird Woman explained to him that it was an easy matter with the
subject she then had in hand; and as Little Chicken was too small to
be frightened by him, and big enough to be growing troublesome, she was
glad for his company. They went to the chicken log together, leaving to
the happy Freckles the care of the Angel, who had brought her banjo and
a roll of songs that she wanted to hear him sing. The Bird Woman told
them that they might practice in Freckles' room until she finished with
Little Chicken, and then she and McLean would come to the concert.

It was almost three hours before they finished and came down the west
trail for their rest and lunch. McLean walked ahead, keeping sharp watch
on the trail and clearing it of fallen limbs from overhanging trees. He
sent a big piece of bark flying into the swale, and then stopped short
and stared at the trail.

The Bird Woman bent forward. Together they studied that imprint of
the Angel's foot. At last their eyes met, the Bird Woman's filled with
astonishment, and McLean's humid with pity. Neither said a word, but
they knew. McLean entered the swale and hunted up the bark. He replaced
it, and the Bird Woman carefully stepped over. As they reached the
bushes at the entrance, the voice of the Angel stopped them, for it was
commanding and filled with much impatience.

"Freckles James Ross McLean!" she was saying. "You fill me with
dark-blue despair! You're singing as if your voice were glass and might
break at any minute. Why don't you sing as you did a week ago? Answer me
that, please."

Freckles smiled confu