"Isn't the little accent he has, and the way he twists a sentence, too dear?
And isn't it too old-fashioned and funny to hear him call his father 'mister' ?" "It sounds too good to be true," said the Bird Woman, answering the last question first.

"I am so tired of these present-day young men who patronizingly call their fathers 'Dad,' 'Governor,' 'Old Man' and 'Old Chap,' that the boy's attitude of respect and deference appealed to me as being fine as silk.

There must be something rare about that young man." She did not find it necessary to tell the Angel that for several years she had known the man who so proudly proclaimed himself Freckles' father to be a bachelor and a Scotchman.

The Bird Woman had a fine way of attending strictly to her own business.
Freckles turned to the trail, but he stopped at every wild brier to study the pink satin of the petals.

She was not of his world, and better than any other he knew it; but she might be his Angel, and he was dreaming of naught but blind, silent worship.