Веснянки

           Freckleswaslookingoverherheadnowandsingingthatsong,asitneverhadbeensungbefore,forheralone;andinsteadofherhelpinghim,asshehadintended,hewascarryingherwithhimonthewavesofhisvoice,away,awayintoanotherworld.Whenhestruckintothechorus,wide-eyedandpanting,shewasswayingtowardhimandplayingwithallhermight.

           “Oh,doyoulove?Oh,sayyoulove

           Youlovetheshamrockgreen!”

           Atthelastnote,Freckles’voiceceasedandhelookedattheAngel.Hehadgivenhisbestandhisall.Hefellonhiskneesandfoldedhisarmsacrosshisbreast.TheAngel,asifmagnetized,walkedstraightdowntheaisletohim,andrunningherfingersintothecrispmassesofhisredhair,tiltedhisheadbackandlaidherlipsonhisforehead.

           Thenshesteppedbackandfacedhim.“Goodboy!”shesaid,inavoicethatwaveredfromthethrobbingofhershakenheart.“Dearboy!Iknewyoucoulddoit!Iknewitwasinyou!Freckles,whenyougointotheworld,ifyoucanfaceabigaudienceandsinglikethat,justonce,youwillbeimmortal,andanythingyouwantwillbeyours.”

           “Anything!”gaspedFreckles.

           “Anything,”saidtheAngel.

           Frecklesarose,mutteredsomething,andcatchinguphisoldbucket,plungedintotheswampblindlyonapretenceofbringingwater.TheAngelwalkedslowlyacrossthestudy,satontherusticbench,and,throughnarrowedlids,intentlystudiedthetipofhershoe.

           OnthetrailtheBirdWomanwheeledtoMcLeanwithadumbfoundedlook.

           “God!”mutteredhe.

           AtlasttheBirdWomanspoke.