"You go over there and stand before that hedge and sing something.

Just anything you think of first." Freckles faced the Angel from his banked wall of brown, blue, and crimson, with its background of solid green, and lifting his face to the sky, he sang the first thing that came into his mind.

It was a children's song that he had led for the little folks at the Home many times, recalled to his mind by the Angel's exclamation: "To fairyland we go, With a song of joy, heigh-o.
In dreams we'll stand upon that shore And all the realm behold; We'll see the sights so grand That belong to fairyland, Its mysteries we will explore, Its beauties will unfold.
"Oh, tra, la, la, oh, ha, ha, ha! We're happy now as we can be, Our welcome song we will prolong, And greet you with our melody.
O fairyland, sweet fairyland, We love to sing----" No song could have given the intense sweetness and rollicking quality of Freckles' voice better scope.

He forgot everything but pride in his work.

He was singing the chorus, and the Angel was shivering in ecstasy, when clip! clip! came the sharply beating feet of a swiftly ridden horse down the trail from the north.