Suddenly Little Chicken sprang straight in the air and landed with a thud.

The Angel started slightly, but Freckles was immovable.

Then, as if in approval of his last performance, the big, overgrown baby wheeled until he was more than three-quarters, almost full side, toward the camera, straightened on his legs, squared his shoulders, stretched his neck full height, drew in his chin and smirked his most pronounced smirk, directly in the face of the lens.
Freckles' fingers closed on the bulb convulsively, and the Angel's closed on his at the instant.

Then she heaved a great sigh of relief and lifted her hands to push back the damp, clustering hair from her face.
"How soon do you s'pose it will be finished ?" came Freckles' strident whisper.
For the first time the Angel looked at him.

He was on his knees, leaning forward, his eyes directed toward the bird, the perspiration running in little streams down his red, mosquito-bitten face.