Freckles eBook

Gene Stratton Porter
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 312 pages of information about Freckles.

Freckles eBook

Gene Stratton Porter
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 312 pages of information about Freckles.

“Something like,” said Freckles.  “Still, I’ve the Limberlost in me heart so that all of it will be real to me while I live, no matter what they do to it.  I’m glad past telling if you will be coming a few more times, at least until the gang arrives.  Past that time I don’t allow mesilf to be thinking.”

“Come, have a cool drink before you start back,” said the Angel.

“I couldn’t possibly,” said Freckles.  “I left Mrs. Duncan on the trail, and she’s terribly afraid of a lot of things.  If she even sees a big snake, I don’t know what she’ll do.”

“It won’t take but a minute, and you can ride fast enough to make up for it.  Please.  I want to think of something fine for you, to make up a little for what you did for me that first day.”

Freckles looked in sheer wonderment into the beautiful face of the Angel.  Did she truly mean it?  Would she walk down that street with him, crippled, homely, in mean clothing, with the tools of his occupation on him, and share with him the treat she was offering?  He could not believe it, even of the Angel.  Still, in justice to the candor of her pure, sweet face, he would not think that she would make the offer and not mean it.  She really did mean just what she said, but when it came to carrying out her offer and he saw the stares of her friends, the sneers of her enemies—­if such as she could have enemies—­and heard the whispered jeers of the curious, then she would see her mistake and be sorry.  It would be only a manly thing for him to think this out, and save her from the results of her own blessed bigness of heart.

“I railly must be off,” said Freckles earnestly, “but I’m thanking you more than you’ll ever know for your kindness.  I’ll just be drinking bowls of icy things all me way home in the thoughts of it.”

Down came the Angel’s foot.  Her eyes flashed indignantly.  “There’s no sense in that,” she said.  “How do you think you would have felt when you knew I was warm and thirsty and you went and brought me a drink and I wouldn’t take it because—­because goodness knows why!  You can ride faster to make up for the time.  I’ve just thought out what I want to fix for you.”

She stepped to his side and deliberately slipped her hand under his arm—­that right arm that ended in an empty sleeve.

“You are coming,” she said firmly.  “I won’t have it.”

Freckles could not have told how he felt, neither could anyone else.  His blood rioted and his head swam, but he kept his wits.  He bent over her.

“Please don’t, Angel,” he said softly.  “You don’t understand.”

How Freckles came to understand was a problem.

“It’s this,” he persisted.  “If your father met me on the street, in my station and dress, with you on me arm, he’d have every right to be caning me before the people, and not a finger would I lift to stay him.”

The Angel’s eyes snapped.  “If you think my father cares about my doing anything that is right and kind, and that makes me happy to do—­why, then you completely failed in reading my father, and I’ll ask him and just show you.”

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Freckles from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.