wad hae to see that to believe it. We mauna let the Boss miss that
sight, for it's a chance will no likely come twice in a life.

Everything is snowed under and thae craturs near starved, but
trustin' Freckles that complete they are tamer than our chickens.

Look hard, bairns!" he whispered. "Ye winna see the like o' yon
again, while God lets ye live. Notice their color against the ice

and snow, and the pretty skippin' ways of them! And spunky!
Weel, I'm heat fair!"

Freckles emptied his cap, turned his pockets and scattered his
last grain. Then he waved his watching friends good-bye and

started down the timber-line.
A week later, Duncan and Freckles arose from breakfast to face the

bitterest morning of the winter. When Freckles, warmly capped and
gloved, stepped to the corner of the kitchen for his scrap-pail, he

found a big pan of steaming boiled wheat on the top of it. He wheeled
to Mrs. Duncan with a shining face.

"Were you fixing this warm food for me chickens or yours?" he asked.
"It's for yours, Freckles," she said. "I was afeared this cold

weather they wadna lay good without a warm bite now and then."
Duncan laughed as he stepped to the other room for his pipe; but

Freckles faced Mrs. Duncan with a trace of every pang of starved
mother-hunger he ever had suffered written large on his homely,

splotched, narrow features.
"Oh, how I wish you were my mother!" he cried.

Mrs. Duncan attempted an echo of her husband's laugh.
"Lord love the lad!" she exclaimed. "Why, Freckles, are ye no

bright enough to learn without being taught by a woman that I am
your mither? If a great man like yoursel' dinna ken that, learn it

now and ne'er forget it. Ance a woman is the wife of any man, she
becomes wife to all men for having had the wifely experience she kens!

Ance a man-child has beaten his way to life under the heart of a
woman, she is mither to all men, for the hearts of mithers are

everywhere the same. Bless ye, laddie, I am your mither!"
She tucked the coarse scarf she had knit for him closer over his

chest and pulled his cap lower over his ears, but Freckles,
whipping it off and holding it under his arm, caught her rough,

reddened hand and pressed it to his lips in a long kiss. Then he
hurried away to hide the happy, embarrassing tears that were coming

straight from his swelling heart.
Mrs. Duncan, sobbing unrestrainedly, swept into the adjoining room

and threw herself into Duncan's arms.
"Oh, the puir lad!" she wailed. "Oh, the puir mither-hungry lad!

He breaks my heart!"
Duncan's arms closed convulsively around his wife. With a big,

brown hand he lovingly stroked her rough, sorrel hair.
"Sarah, you're a guid woman!" he said. "You're a michty guid woman!

Ye hae a way o' speakin' out at times that's like the inspired
prophets of the Lord. If that had been put to me, now, I'd `a' felt

all I kent how to and been keen enough to say the richt thing; but
dang it, I'd `a' stuttered and stammered and got naething out that

would ha' done onybody a mite o' good. But ye, Sarah! Did ye see
his face, woman? Ye sent him off lookin' leke a white light of

holiness had passed ower and settled on him. Ye sent the lad away
too happy for mortal words, Sarah. And ye made me that proud o' ye!

I wouldna trade ye an' my share o' the Limberlost with ony king ye
could mention."

He relaxed his clasp, and setting a heavy hand on each shoulder, he
looked straight into her eyes.

"Ye're prime, Sarah! Juist prime!" he said.
Sarah Duncan stood alone in the middle of her two-roomed log cabin

and lifted a bony, clawlike pair of hands, reddened by frequent
immersion in hot water, cracked and chafed by exposure to cold,

black-lined by constant battle with swamp-loam, calloused with
burns, and stared at them wonderingly.

"Pretty-lookin' things ye are!" she whispered. "But ye hae juist
been kissed. And by such a man! Fine as God ever made at His

verra best. Duncan wouldna trade wi' a king! Na! Nor I wadna
trade with a queen wi' a palace, an' velvet gowns, an' diamonds

big as hazelnuts, an' a hundred visitors a day into the bargain.
Ye've been that honored I'm blest if I can bear to souse ye in

dish-water. Still, that kiss winna come off! Naething can take it
from me, for it's mine till I dee. Lord, if I amna proud! Kisses on

these old claws! Weel, I be drawed on!"
CHAPTER III

Wherein a Feather Falls and a Soul Is Born
So Freckles fared through the bitter winter. He was very happy.

He had hungered for freedom, love, and appreciation so long!
He had been unspeakably lonely at the Home; and the utter

loneliness of a great desert or forest is not so difficult to
endure as the loneliness of being constantly surrounded by crowds

of people who do not care in the least whether one is living or dead.
All through the winter Freckles' entire energy was given to keeping

up his lines and his "chickens" from freezing or starving. When the
first breath of spring touched the Limberlost, and the snow receded

before it; when the catkins began to bloom; when there came a hint
of green to the trees, bushes, and swale; when the rushes lifted

their heads, and the pulse of the newly resurrected season beat
strongly in the heart of nature, something new stirred in the

breast of the boy.
Nature always levies her tribute. Now she laid a powerful hand on the

soul of Freckles, to which the boy's whole being responded, though
he had not the least idea what was troubling him. Duncan accepted

his wife's theory that it was a touch of spring fever, but Freckles
knew better. He never had been so well. Clean, hot, and steady

the blood pulsed in his veins. He was always hungry, and his most
difficult work tired him not at all. For long months, without a

single intermission, he had tramped those seven miles of trail twice
each day, through every conceivable state of weather. With the

heavy club he gave his wires a sure test, and between sections,
first in play, afterward to keep his circulation going, he had

acquired the skill of an expert drum major. In his work there was
exercise for every muscle of his body each hour of the day, at

night a bath, wholesome food, and sound sleep in a room that never
knew fire. He had gained flesh and color, and developed a greater

strength and endurance than anyone ever could have guessed.
Nor did the Limberlost contain last year's terrors. He had been

with her in her hour of desolation, when stripped bare and
deserted, she had stood shivering, as if herself afraid. He had

made excursions into the interior until he was familiar with every
path and road that ever had been cut. He had sounded the depths of

her deepest pools, and had learned why the trees grew so magnificently.
He had found that places of swamp and swale were few compared with

miles of solid timber-land, concealed by summer's luxuriant undergrowth.
The sounds that at first had struck cold fear into his soul he now

knew had left on wing and silent foot at the approach of winter.
As flock after flock of the birds returned and he recognized the

old echoes reawakening, he found to his surprise that he had
been lonely for them and was hailing their return with great joy.

All his fears were forgotten. Instead, he was possessed of an
overpowering desire to know what they were, to learn where they had

been, and whether they would make friends with him as the winter
birds had done; and if they did, would they be as fickle? For, with

the running sap, creeping worm, and winging bug, most of Freckles'
"chickens" had deserted him, entered the swamp, and feasted to such