Chapter XVIII

           Freckleslayonaflatpillow,hisbodyimmovableinaplastercast,hismaimedarm,asalways,hidden.HisgreedygazefastenedatonceontheAngel’sface.Shecrossedtohimwithlightstepandbentoverhimwithinfinitetenderness.Herheartachedatthechangeinhisappearance.Heseemedsoweak,hearthungry,soutterlyhopeless,soalone.Shecouldseethatthenighthadbeenonelongterror.

           ForthefirsttimeshetriedputtingherselfinFreckles’place.Whatwoulditmeantohavenoparents,nohome,noname?Noname!Thatwastheworstofall.Thatwastobelost—indeed—utterlyandhopelesslylost.TheAngelliftedherhandstoherdazedheadandreeled,asshetriedtofacethatproposition.Shedroppedonherkneesbesidethebed,slippedherarmunderthepillow,andleaningoverFreckles,setherlipsonhisforehead.Hesmiledfaintly,buthiswistfulfaceappearedworseforit.IthurttheAngeltotheheart.

           “DearFreckles,”shesaid,“thereisastoryinyoureyesthismorning,tellme?”

           Frecklesdrewalong,waveringbreath.

           “Angel,”hebegged,“begenerous!Bethinkingofmealittle.I’msohomesickandwornout,dearAngel,begivingmebackmepromise.Letmego?”

           “WhyFreckles!”falteredtheAngel.“Youdon’tknowwhatyouareasking.’Letyougo!’Icannot!Iloveyoubetterthananyone,Freckles.IthinkyouaretheveryfinestpersonIeverknew.Ihaveourlivesallplanned.Iwantyoutobeeducatedandlearnallthereistoknowaboutsinging,justassoonasyouarewellenough.