Incredulous, he quavered: “An'--an' was you looking for me?” “I hoped I might find you,” said the Angel. “You see, I didn't do as I was told, and I'm lost. The Bird Woman said I should wait in the carriage until she came back. She's been gone hours. It's a perfect Turkish bath in there, and I'm all lumpy with mosquito bites. Just when I thought that I couldn't bear it another minute, along came the biggest Papilio Ajax you ever saw. I knew how pleased she'd be, so I ran after it. It flew so slow and so low that I thought a dozen times I had it. Then all at once it went from sight above the trees, and I couldn't find my way back to save me. I think I've walked more than an hour. I have been mired to my knees. A thorn raked my arm until it is bleeding, and I'm so tired and warm.” She parted the bushes farther. Freckles saw that her blue cotton frock clung to her, limp with perspiration. It was torn across the breast. One sleeve hung open from shoulder to elbow. A thorn had torn her arm until it was covered with blood, and the gnats and mosquitoes were clustering around it. Her feet were in lace hose and low shoes. Freckles gasped. In the Limberlost in low shoes! He caught an armful of moss from his carpet and buried it in the ooze in front of her for a footing. “Come out here so I can see where you are stepping. Quick, for the life of you!” he ordered. She smiled on him indulgently. “Why?” she inquired. “Did anybody let you come here and not be telling you of the snakes?” urged Freckles. “We met Mr. McLean on the corduroy, and he did say something about snakes, I believe. The Bird Woman put on leather leggings, and a nice, parboiled time she must be having! Worst dose I ever endured, and I'd nothing to do but swelter.” “Will you be coming out of there?” groaned Freckles. She laughed as if it were a fine joke. “Maybe if I'd be telling you I killed a rattler curled upon that same place you're standing, as long as me body and the thickness of me arm, you'd be moving where I can see your footing,” he urged insistently. “What a perfectly delightful little brogue you speak,” she said. “My father is Irish, and half should be enough to entitle me to that much. 'Maybe--if I'd--be telling you,'” she imitated, rounding and accenting each word carefully. Freckles was beginning to feel a wildness in his head. He had derided Wessner at that same hour yesterday. Now his own eyes were filling with tears. “If you were understanding the danger!” he continued desperately. “Oh, I don't think there is much!” She tilted on the morass. “If you killed one snake here, it's probably all there is near; and anyway, the Bird Woman says a rattlesnake is a gentleman and always gives warning before he strikes. I don't hear any rattling. Do you?” “Would you be knowing it if you did?” asked Freckles, almost impatiently. How the laugh of the young thing rippled!