He kept one eye religiously on the line.
The other he divided between the path, his friends of the wire, and a search of the sky for his latest arrivals.

Every day since their coming he had seen them, either hanging as small, black clouds above the swamp or bobbing over logs and trees with their queer, tilting walk.

Whenever he could spare time, he entered the swamp and tried to make friends with them, for they were the tamest of all his unnumbered subjects.

They ducked, dodged, and ambled around him, over logs and bushes, and not even a near approach would drive them to flight.
For two weeks he had found them circling over the Limberlost regularly, but one morning the female was missing and only the big black chicken hung sentinel above the swamp.

His mate did not reappear in the following days, and Freckles grew very anxious.