Freckles leaned toward the bird. Tensely he waited. Unconsciously the hand of the Angel clasped his. He scarcely knew it was there. Suddenly Little Chicken sprang straight in the air and landed with a thud. The Angel started slightly, but Freckles was immovable. Then, as if in approval of his last performance, the big, overgrown baby wheeled until he was more than three-quarters, almost full side, toward the camera, straightened on his legs, squared his shoulders, stretched his neck full height, drew in his chin and smirked his most pronounced smirk, directly in the face of the lens.
Freckles’ fingers closed on the bulb convulsively, and the Angel’s closed on his at the instant. Then she heaved a great sigh of relief and lifted her hands to push back the damp, clustering hair from her face.
“How soon do you s’pose it will be finished?” came Freckles’ strident whisper.
For the first time the Angel looked at him. He was on his knees, leaning forward, his eyes directed toward the bird, the perspiration running in little streams down his red, mosquito-bitten face. His hat was awry, his bright hair rampant, his breast heaving with excitement, while he yet gripped the bulb with every ounce of strength in his body.
“Do you think we were for getting it?” he asked.
The Angel could only nod. Freckles heaved a deep sigh of relief.
“Well, if that ain’t the hardest work I ever did in me life!” he exclaimed. “It’s no wonder the Bird Woman’s for coming out of the swamp looking as if she’s been through a fire, a flood, and a famine, if that’s what she goes through day after day. But if you think we got it, why, it’s worth all it took, and I’m glad as ever you are, sure!”
They put the holders in the case, carefully closed the camera, set it in also, and carried it to the road.
Then Freckles exulted.
“Now, let’s be telling the Bird Woman about it!” he shouted, wildly dancing and swinging his hat.
“We got it! We got it! I bet a farm we got it!”
Hand in hand they ran to the north end of the swamp, yelling “We got it!” like young Comanches, and never gave a thought to what they might do until a big blue-gray bird, with long neck and trailing legs, arose on flapping wings and sailed over the Limberlost.
The Angel became white to the lips and gripped Freckles with both hands. He gulped with mortification and turned his back.
To frighten her subject away carelessly! It was the head crime in the Bird Woman’s category. She extended her hands as she arose, baked, blistered, and dripping, and exclaimed: “Bless you, my children! Bless you!” And it truly sounded as if she meant it.
“Why, why—” stammered the bewildered Angel.
Freckles hurried into the breach.
“You must be for blaming it every bit on me. I was thinking we got Little Chicken’s picture real good. I was so drunk with the joy of it I lost all me senses and, ‘Let’s run tell the Bird Woman,’ says I. Like a fool I was for running, and I sort of dragged the Angel along.”
“Oh Freckles!” expostulated the Angel. “Are you loony? Of course, it was all my fault! I’ve been with her hundreds of times. I knew perfectly well that I wasn’t to let anything—not anything—scare her bird away! I was so crazy I forgot. The blame is all mine, and she’ll never forgive me.”
“She will, too!” cried Freckles. “Wasn’t you for telling me that very first day that when people scared her birds away she just killed them! It’s all me foolishness, and I’ll never forgive meself!”
The Bird Woman plunged into the swale at the mouth of Sleepy Snake Creek, and came wading toward them, with a couple of cameras and dripping tripods.
“If you will permit me a word, my infants,” she said, “I will explain to you that I have had three shots at that fellow.”
The Angel heaved a deep sigh of relief, and Freckles’ face cleared a little.
“Two of them,” continued the Bird Woman, “in the rushes—one facing, crest lowered; one light on back, crest flared; and the last on wing, when you came up. I simply had been praying for something to make him arise from that side, so that he would fly toward the camera, for he had waded around until in my position I couldn’t do it myself. See? Behold in yourselves the answer to the prayers of the long-suffering!”
Freckles took a step toward her.
“Are you really meaning that?” he asked wonderingly. “Only think, Angel, we did the right thing! She won’t lose her picture through the carelessness of us, when she’s waited and soaked nearly two hours. She’s not angry with us!”
“Never was in a sweeter temper in my life,” said the Bird Woman, busily cleaning and packing the cameras.
Freckles removed his hat and solemnly held out his hand. With equal solemnity the Angel grasped it. The Bird Woman laughed alone, for to them the situation had been too serious to develop any of the elements of fun.
Then they loaded the carriage, and the Bird Woman and the Angel started for their homes. It had been a difficult time for all of them, so they were very tired, but they were joyful. Freckles was so happy it seemed to him that life could hold little more. As the Bird Woman was ready to drive away he laid his hand on the lines and looked into her face.
“Do you suppose we got it?” he asked, so eagerly that she would have given much to be able to say yes with conviction.
“Why, my dear, I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve no way to judge. If you made the exposure just before you came to me, there was yet a fine light. If you waited until Little Chicken was close the entrance, you should have something good, even if you didn’t catch just the fleeting expression for which you hoped. Of course, I can’t say surely, but I
