McLean entered the swale and hunted up the bark.

He replaced it, and the Bird Woman carefully stepped over.

As they reached the bushes at the entrance, the voice of the Angel stopped them, for it was commanding and filled with much impatience.
"Freckles James Ross McLean!" she was saying.

"You fill me with dark-blue despair! You're singing as if your voice were glass and might break at any minute.

Why don't you sing as you did a week ago?
Answer me that, please." Freckles smiled confusedly at the Angel, who sat on one of his fancy seats, playing his accompaniment on her banjo.
"You are a fraud," she said.