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He
turned
to
the
trail
.
“
Please
wait
a
minute
,
”
called
the
Angel
.
“
What
’
s
your
name
?
I
want
to
think
about
you
while
you
are
gone
.
”
Freckles
lifted
his
face
with
the
brown
rift
across
it
and
smiled
quizzically
.
“
Freckles
?
”
she
guessed
,
with
a
peal
of
laughter
.
“
And
mine
is
—
—
”
“
I
’
m
knowing
yours
,
”
interrupted
Freckles
.
“
I
don
’
t
believe
you
do
.
What
is
it
?
”
asked
the
girl
.
“
You
won
’
t
be
getting
angry
?
”
“
Not
until
I
’
ve
had
the
water
,
at
least
.
”
It
was
Freckles
’
turn
to
laugh
.
He
whipped
off
his
big
,
floppy
straw
hat
,
stood
uncovered
before
her
,
and
said
,
in
the
sweetest
of
all
the
sweet
tones
of
his
voice
:
“
There
’
s
nothing
you
could
be
but
the
Swamp
Angel
.
”
The
girl
laughed
happily
.
Once
out
of
her
sight
,
Freckles
ran
every
step
of
the
way
to
the
cabin
.
Mrs
.
Duncan
gave
him
a
small
bucket
of
water
,
cool
from
the
well
.
He
carried
it
in
the
crook
of
his
right
arm
,
and
a
basket
filled
with
bread
and
butter
,
cold
meat
,
apple
pie
,
and
pickles
,
in
his
left
hand
.
