To
  all good Irishmen
  in general
                                  and one
                            CHARLES DARWIN PORTER
                                 in particular

                                    Characters

    FRECKLES,
           a plucky waif
             who guards the Limberlost timber
                   leases and dreams of Angels.

    THE SWAMP
        ANGEL,
        in whom Freckles' sweetest
               dream materializes.

    MCLEAN,
           a member
            of a Grand Rapids
                lumber company,
         who befriends Freckles.

    MRS.
        DUNCAN,
           who gives mother-love
               and a home to Freckles.

    DUNCAN,
           head teamster
               of McLean's timber gang.

    THE BIRD
        WOMAN,
           who is
              collecting camera studies of birds
                   for a book.

    LORD AND LADY
        O'MORE,
           who come
               from Ireland
             in quest
                   of a lost relative.

    THE MAN OF
        AFFAIRS,
           brusque of manner,
         but big of heart.

    WESSNER,
           a Dutch timber-thief
             who wants rascality made easy.

    BLACK
        JACK,
           a villain
             to whom thought of repentance
                comes too late.

    SEARS,
           camp cook.
 
  CHAPTER I
  Wherein Great Risks Are Taken
       and the Limberlost Guard Is
       Hired

    Freckles came down the corduroy
         that crosses the lower
               end of the Limberlost.

    At a glance
         he might have been
              mistaken for a tramp,
           but he
            was truly seeking work.

    He was intensely eager
          to belong somewhere and
        to be
              attached to almost any enterprise
         that would furnish
               him food and clothing.

    Long before
         he came
               in sight
                   of the camp
              of the Grand Rapids
                   Lumber Company,
           he could hear
               the cheery voices
             of the men,
         the neighing of the horses,
           and could
              scent the tempting odors
                   of cooking food.

    A feeling of homeless friendlessness
          swept over him
               in a sickening wave.

    Without stopping to think,
           he turned into the newly
              made road and
                  followed it to the camp,
         where the gang
            was making ready
                   for supper and bed.

    The scene was intensely attractive.

    The thickness of the swamp
           made a dark,
         massive background below,
         while above towered gigantic trees.

    The men
        were calling jovially back and
               forth as
         they unharnessed tired horses
           that fell
               into attitudes of rest
                   and crunched,
           in deep content,
         the grain given them.

    Duncan,
           the brawny Scotch head-teamster,
         lovingly wiped the flanks
               of his big bays
             with handfuls of pawpaw leaves,
           as he softly whistled,
         "O wha
            will be my dearie,
               O!"

    and a cricket
           beneath the leaves
               at his feet
          accompanied him.

    The green wood fire
        hissed and crackled merrily.

    Wreathing tongues of flame
           wrapped around
               the big black kettles,
           and when the cook
               lifted the lids
                  to plunge in his testing-fork,
         gusts of savory odors escaped.

    Freckles approached him.

    "I want
          to speak
               with the Boss," he said.

    The cook
          glanced at him and
              answered carelessly:
         "He can't use you."

    The color flooded Freckles' face,
           but he said simply:
         "If you
            will be having the goodness
                  to point him out,
               we will give
                   him a chance
                  to do his own talking."

    With a shrug of astonishment,
           the cook
              led the way
                   to a rough board table
             where a broad,
         square-shouldered man
            was bending over some account-books.

    "Mr. McLean,
           here's another man wanting
              to be
                  taken on the gang,
         I suppose," he said.

    "All right,"
        came the cheery answer.

    "I never
          needed a good
               man more than