CHAPTER VIII

      Wherein Freckles Meets a Man of Affairs and Loses Nothing by the Encounter

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      “Weel, I be drawed on!” exclaimed Mrs. Duncan.

      Freckles stood before her, holding the Angel's hat.

      “I've been thinking this long time that ye or Duncan would see that sunbonnets werena braw enough for a woman of my standing, and ye're a guid laddie to bring me this beautiful hat.”

      She turned it around, examining the weave of the straw and the foliage trimmings, passing her rough fingers over the satin ties delightedly. As she held it up, admiring it, Freckles' astonished eyes saw a new side of Sarah Duncan. She was jesting, but under the jest the fact loomed strong that, though poor, overworked, and with none but God-given refinement, there was something in her soul crying after that bit of feminine finery, and it made his heart ache for her. He resolved that when he reached the city he would send her a hat, if it took fifty dollars to do it.

      She lingeringly handed it back to him.

      “It's unco guid of ye to think of me,” she said lightly, “but I maun question your taste a wee. D'ye no think ye had best return this and get a woman with half her hair gray a little plainer headdress? Seems like that's far ower gay for me. I'm no' saying that it's no' exactly what I'd like to hae, but I mauna mak mysel' ridiculous. Ye'd best give this to somebody young and pretty, say about sixteen. Where did ye come by it, Freckles? If there's anything been dropping lately, ye hae forgotten to mention it.”

      “Do you see anything heavenly about that hat?” queried Freckles, holding it up.

      The morning breeze waved the ribbons gracefully, binding one around Freckles' sleeve and the other across his chest, where they caught and clung as if magnetized.

      “Yes,” said Sarah Duncan. “It's verra plain and simple, but it juist makes ye feel that it's all of the finest stuff. It's exactly what I'd call a heavenly hat.”

      “Sure,” said Freckles, “for it's belonging to an Angel!”

      Then he told her about the hat and asked her what he should do with it.

      “Take it to her, of course!” said Sarah Duncan. “Like it's the only ane she has and she may need it badly.”

      Freckles smiled. He had a clear idea about the hat being the only one the Angel had. However, there was a thing he felt he should do and wanted to do, but he was not sure.

      “You think I might be taking it home?” he said.

      “Of course ye must,” said Mrs. Duncan. “And without another hour's delay. It's been here two days noo, and she may want it, and be too busy or afraid to come.”

      “But how can I take it?” asked Freckles.

      “Gang spinning on your wheel. Ye can do it easy in an hour.”

      “But in that hour, what if——?”

      “Nonsense!” interrupted Sarah Duncan. “Ye've watched that timber-line until ye're grown fast to it, lad. Give me your boots and club and I'll gae walk the south end and watch doon the east and west sides until ye come back.”

      “Mrs. Duncan! You never would be doing it,” cried Freckles.

      “Why not?” inquired she.

      “But you know you're mortal afraid of snakes and a lot of other things in the swamp.”

      “I am afraid of snakes,” said Mrs. Duncan, “but likely they've gone into the swamp this hot weather. I'll juist stay on the trail and watch, and ye might hurry the least bit. The day's so bright it feels like storm. I can put the bairns on the woodpile to play until I get back. Ye gang awa and take the blessed little angel her beautiful hat.”

      “Are you sure it will be all right?” urged Freckles. “Do you think if Mr. McLean came he would care?”

      “Na,” said Mrs. Duncan; “I dinna. If ye and me agree that a thing ought to be done, and I watch in your place, why, it's bound to be all right with McLean. Let me pin the hat in a paper, and ye jump on your wheel and gang flying. Ought ye put on your Sabbath-day clothes?”

      Freckles shook his head. He knew what he should do, but there was no use in taking time to try to explain it to Mrs. Duncan while he was so hurried. He exchanged his wading-boots for shoes, gave her his club, and went spinning toward town. He knew very well where the Angel lived. He had seen her home many times, and he passed it again without even raising his eyes from the street, steering straight for her father's place of business.

      Carrying the hat, Freckles passed a long line of clerks, and at the door of the private office asked to see the proprietor. When he had waited a moment, a tall, spare, keen-eyed man faced him, and in brisk, nervous tones asked: “How can I serve you, sir?”

      Freckles handed him the package and answered, “By delivering to your daughter this hat, which she was after leaving at me place the other day, when she went away in a hurry. And by saying to her and the Bird Woman that I'm more thankful than I'll be having words to express for the brave things they was doing for me. I'm McLean's Limberlost guard, sir.”

      “Why don't you take it yourself?” questioned the Man of Affairs.

      Freckles' clear gray eyes met those of the Angel's father squarely, and he asked: “If you were in my place, would you take it to her yourself?”

      “No, I would not,” said that gentleman quickly.

      “Then why ask why I did not?” came Freckles' lamb-like query.

      “Bless me!” said the Angel's father. He stared at the package, then at the lifted chin of the boy, and then at the package again, and muttered, “Excuse me!”

      Freckles bowed.

      “It would be favoring me greatly if you would deliver the hat and the message. Good morning, sir,” and he turned away.

      “One minute,” said the Angel's father. “Suppose I give you permission to return this hat in person and make your own acknowledgments.”

      Freckles stood one moment thinking intently, and then he lifted those eyes of unswerving truth and asked: “Why should you, sir? You are kind, indade, to mention it, and it's thanking you I am for your good intintions, but my wanting to go or your being willing to have me ain't proving that your daughter would be wanting me or care to bother with me.”

      The Angel's father looked keenly into the face of this extraordinary young man, for he found it to his liking.

      “There's one other thing I meant to say,” said Freckles. “Every day I see something, and at times a lot of things, that I think the Bird Woman would be wanting pictures of badly, if she knew. You might be speaking of it to her, and if she'd want me to, I can send her word when I find things she wouldn't likely get elsewhere.”

      “If that's the case,” said the Angel's father, “and you feel under obligations for her assistance