"Take ye!" said Duncan. "If ye make juist ane bird licht on your heid
or eat frae your hand, ye are free to help yoursel' to my corn-crib and
wheat bin the rest of the winter."

Freckles sprang in air and howled in glee.

"Oh, Duncan! You're too, aisy" he cried. "When will you come?"

"I'll come next Sabbath," said Duncan. "And I'll believe the birds of
the Limberlost are tame as barnyard fowl when I see it, and no sooner!"

After that Freckles always spoke of the birds as his chickens, and the
Duncans followed his example. The very next Sabbath, Duncan, with his
wife and children, followed Freckles to the swamp. They saw a sight so
wonderful it will keep them talking all the remainder of their lives,
and make them unfailing friends of all the birds.

Freckles' chickens were awaiting him at the edge of the clearing. They
cut the frosty air around his head into curves and circles of crimson,
blue, and black. They chased each other from Freckles, and swept so
closely themselves that they brushed him with their outspread wings.

At their feeding-ground Freckles set down his old pail of scraps and
swept the snow from a small level space with a broom improvised of
twigs. As soon as his back was turned, the birds clustered over the
food, snatching scraps to carry to the nearest bushes. Several of the
boldest, a big crow and a couple of jays, settled on the rim and feasted
at leisure, while a cardinal, that hesitated to venture, fumed and
scolded from a twig overhead.