“Thank you for everything,” he panted. “Where are the boys?” “They are all here,” said the Boss, “except a couple who have gone for doctors, Mrs. Duncan and the Bird Woman.” “It's no use trying to do anything,” said Freckles. “You won't forget the muff and the Christmas box. The muff especial?” There was a movement above them so pronounced that it attracted Freckles' attention, even in that extreme hour. He looked up, and a pleased smile flickered on his drawn face. “Why, if it ain't me Little Chicken!” he cried hoarsely. “He must be making his very first trip from the log. Now Duncan can have his big watering-trough.” “It was Little Chicken that made me late,” faltered the Angel. “I was so anxious to get here early I forgot to bring his breakfast from the carriage. He must have been hungry, for when I passed the log he started after me. He was so wabbly, and so slow flying from tree to tree and through the bushes, I just had to wait on him, for I couldn't drive him back.” “Of course you couldn't! Me bird has too amazing good sinse to go back when he could be following you,” exulted Freckles, exactly as if he did not realize what the delay had cost him. Then he lay silently thinking, but presently he asked slowly: “And so 'twas me Little Chicken that was making you late, Angel?” “Yes,” said the Angel. A spasm of fierce pain shook Freckles, and a look of uncertainty crossed his face. “All summer I've been thanking God for the falling of the feather and all the delights it's brought me,” he muttered, “but this looks as if----” He stopped short and raised questioning eyes to McLean. “I can't help being Irish, but I can help being superstitious,” he said. “I mustn't be laying it to the Almighty, or to me bird, must I?” “No, dear lad,” said McLean, stroking the brilliant hair. “The choice lay with you. You could have stood a rooted dolt like all the remainder of us. It was through your great love and your high courage that you made the sacrifice.” “Don't you be so naming it, sir!” cried Freckles. “It's just the reverse. If I could be giving me body the hundred times over to save hers from this, I'd be doing it and take joy with every pain.” He turned with a smile of adoring tenderness to the Angel. She was ghastly white, and her eyes were dull and glazed. She scarcely seemed to hear or understand what was coming, but she bravely tried to answer that smile. “Is my forehead covered with dirt?” he asked. She shook her head. “You did once,” he gasped. Instantly she laid her lips on his forehead, then on each cheek, and then in a long kiss on his lips. McLean bent over him. “Freckles,” he said brokenly, “you will never know how I love you. You won't go without saying good-bye to me?” That word stung the Angel to quick comprehension. She started as if arousing from sleep.