The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-12-27

no protection rom surrounding trees. He was swishing the rank grass with his cudgel and thinking of the shade the denser swamp afforded when he suddenly lodged sidewise. The cud- gel whistled sharply through the air and Freckles sprang back.
 Out of the clear sky above him. first level with his face, then skimming, dipping. tilting. whirling until it lit quill down in the path in front of him, came a glossy. iridescent big black feather. As 1t struck the ground Freckles snatched it up and with an almost continuous movement faced the sky. There was not tree of any size in a large open space. From the clear sky it had fallen. and Freckles, gazing eagerly into the arch of June blue with few lazy clouds Boating far up in the sea of ether, had neither mind nor knowledge to dream of a bird hanging as if frozen there. He turned the big quill ques- tioningly, and again bis awed eyes swept the sky.
 "A feather dropped from heaven!' he breathed reverentiy. Are the holy angels molting? But, no; if they were it would be white. Maybe all the an- gels are not for being white. What if the angels of God are white and those of the devil are black? But a black z.a hos vr> 1,,,oi,oSc x,n khoro Moyho some poor black angel is so tired of be- ing punished it's for slipping up to the gates. beating it's wings trying to make the Master heary''
 Again and again Freckles searched the sky. but there was no answering gleam of golden gates, no form of sail ing bird. Then he went slowly on his way. turning the feather over and wondering about it. 1t was a wing quill eighteen inches in length. with . big, heavy spine. gray at the base. shading to jet black at the tip. and it caught the play of the suns rays In slanting gleams of green and bronze. Again Freckles' "old man of the sea" sat su1len and heavy on his shoulders and weighted him down until his step Jagged and his heart ached.
 Where did it come from? What is it? Oh, how I wish 1 knewg he kept repeating.
 Before him spread a great green pool, filled with rotting logs and leaves. bordered with delicate ferns and grasses. among which lifted the creamy spikes of the arrowhead, the blue of water hyacinth and the deli cate yellow of the jewel flower. AS Freckles leaned. handling the feather and staring first at it and then into the depths of the pool, he once more gave voice to his old query. "I won der what 1t is p
 Straight across from him, couched in the mosses of a soggy old log, big green bullfrog. with palpitant throat and batting eyes. lifted his head and beloved in answer, Fin dout, fin dout!"
 "Wha-what's thaty' stammered Freckles. almost too much taken aback to speak. "l-I know you are only 3 bullfrog; but. be jabers. that sound ed nightly like speech. Wouldn't you please to be saying 1t over?"
 The bullfrog cuddled cOntentedly in the ooze. Then suddenly he lifted his voice and. like an imperative drum beat. rolled it again. Fin dout, fin dout. fin doutr'
 Freckles had the answert
 Like the lightning's fash. something seemed to snap in his brain. There was wavering flame before his eyes Then his mind cleared. His head lift ed in new poise. his shoulders squar ed, and his spine strengthened. The agony was over. His soul floated free Freckles came into his birthright.
 Before God. will!' He uttered tn. oath so impressively that the record ing angel never winced as he posted i up in the prayer column.
 FreckleS set his hat over the top o, one of the locust posts used betwee, trees to hold up the wire and fastenec the feather securely in the band. Thei he started down the line. talking t, himself as men that have worked Ions alone always fall into the habit of do ing.
 What a fool I have beeny' be nut tered. "Of course that's what hav' to do. There wouldn't likely anybod, be doing it for me. Of course I can What am I a man for? If IS q four footed thing of the swamp mayb, { couldn't. but a man can do anything if he's the grit to work hard enough and stick at it. MT. Mclean is always saying. and sere's the way I am to do II. He said. too. that there were peo- pie that knew everything in the swamp. Of course they have written books. The thing for me to be doing is to quit moping and be buying me some books. Never bought a book in me life or anything else of much ac count, for that matter. Oh. ain't ] glad I didn't waste me money! IT surely be having enough to get few Let me sec"