What is it ?" asked the girl.
"You won't be getting angry ?" "Not until I've had the water, at least." It was Freckles' turn to laugh.

He whipped off his big, floppy straw hat, stood uncovered before her, and said, in the sweetest of all the sweet tones of his voice: "There's nothing you could be but the Swamp Angel." The girl laughed happily.
Once out of her sight, Freckles ran every step of the way to the cabin.
Mrs.Duncan gave him a small bucket of water, cool from the well.

He carried it in the crook of his right arm, and a basket filled with bread and butter, cold meat, apple pie, and pickles, in his left hand.
"Pickles are kind o' cooling," said Mrs.Duncan.
Then Freckles ran again.
The Angel was on her knees, reaching for the bucket, as he came up.
"Be drinking slow," he cautioned her.
"Oh!" she cried, with a long breath of satisfaction.

"It's so good! You are more than kind to bring it!" Freckles stood blinking in the dazzling glory of her smile until he scarcely could see to lift the basket.
"Mercy!" she exclaimed.

"I think I had better be naming you the 'Angel.' My Guardian Angel." "Yis," said Freckles.