explained to him that he could leave them safe at a bank and carry away
a scrap of paper that represented the amount, he went straight on every
payday and made his deposit, keeping out barely what was necessary for
his board and clothing. What he wanted to do with his money he did not
know, but it gave to him a sense of freedom and power to feel that it
was there--it was his and he could have it when he chose. In imitation
of McLean, he bought a small pocket account-book, in which he carefully
set down every dollar he earned and every penny he spent. As his
expenses were small and the Boss paid him generously, it was astonishing
how his little hoard grew.

That winter held the first hours of real happiness in Freckles' life. He
was free. He was doing a man's work faithfully, through every rigor of
rain, snow, and blizzard. He was gathering a wonderful strength of body,
paying his way, and saving money. Every man of the gang and of that
locality knew that he was under the protection of McLean, who was
a power, this had the effect of smoothing Freckles' path in many
directions.

Mrs. Duncan showed him that individual kindness for which his hungry
heart was longing. She had a hot drink ready for him when he came from
a freezing day on the trail. She knit him a heavy mitten for his left
hand, and devised a way to sew and pad the right sleeve that protected
the maimed arm in bitter weather. She patched his clothing--frequently
torn by the wire--and saved kitchen scraps for his birds, not because
she either knew or cared anything about them, but because she herself
was close enough to the swamp to be touched by its utter loneliness.
When Duncan laughed at her for this, she retorted: "My God, mannie, if
Freckles hadna the birds and the beasts he would be always alone. It was
never meant for a human being to be so solitary. He'd get touched in the