had been cut. He had sounded the depths of her deepest pools, and had
learned why the trees grew so magnificently. He had found that places
of swamp and swale were few compared with miles of solid timber-land,
concealed by summer's luxuriant undergrowth.

The sounds that at first had struck cold fear into his soul he now knew
had left on wing and silent foot at the approach of winter. As flock
after flock of the birds returned and he recognized the old echoes
reawakening, he found to his surprise that he had been lonely for
them and was hailing their return with great joy. All his fears were
forgotten. Instead, he was possessed of an overpowering desire to know
what they were, to learn where they had been, and whether they would
make friends with him as the winter birds had done; and if they did,
would they be as fickle? For, with the running sap, creeping worm, and
winging bug, most of Freckles' "chickens" had deserted him, entered the
swamp, and feasted to such a state of plethora on its store that they
cared little for his supply, so that in the strenuous days of mating and
nest-building the boy was deserted.

He chafed at the birds' ingratitude, but he found speedy consolation in
watching and befriending the newcomers. He surely would have been proud
and highly pleased if he had known that many of the former inhabitants
of the interior swamp now grouped their nests beside the timber-line
solely for the sake of his protection and company.

The yearly resurrection of the Limberlost is a mighty revival. Freckles
stood back and watched with awe and envy the gradual reclothing and
repopulation of the swamp. Keen-eyed and alert through danger and
loneliness, he noted every stage of development, from the first piping
frog and unsheathing bud, to full leafage and the return of the last