The young were tame from Freckles' tri-parenthood, and so plump and sleek that they were quite as beautiful as their elders, even if in many cases they lacked their brilliant plumage.

It was the same story of increase everywhere.

There were chubby little ground-hogs scudding on the trail.
There were cunning baby coons and opossums peeping from hollow logs and trees.

Young muskrats followed their parents across the lagoons.
If you could come upon a family of foxes that had not yet disbanded, and see the young playing with a wild duck's carcass that their mother had brought, and note the pride and satisfaction in her eyes as she lay at one side guarding them, it would be a picture not to be forgotten.
Freckles never tired of studying the devotion of a fox mother to her babies.

To him, whose early life had been so embittered by continual proof of neglect and cruelty in human parents toward their children, the love of these furred and feathered folk of the Limberlost was even more of a miracle than to the Bird Woman and the Angel.
The Angel liked the baby rabbits and squirrels.