in the cornfield to save it for the author; and he did many other
acts of kindness without understanding exactly what he was doing
or why. "Merely that I wanted certain things was enough for those
people," writes Mrs. Porter. "Without question they helped me in
every way their big hearts could suggest to them, because they
loved to be kind, and to be generous was natural with them. The
woman was busy keeping house and mothering a big brood, and
every living creature that came her way, besides. She took me in,
and I put her soul, body, red head, and all, into Sarah Duncan.
The lumber and furniture man I combined in McLean. Freckles was a
composite of certain ideals and my own field experiences, merged
with those of Mr. Bob Burdette Black, who, at the expense of much
time and careful work, had done more for me than any other ten
men afield. The Angel was an idealized picture of my daughter.

"I dedicated the book to my husband, Mr. Charles Darwin Porter,
for several reasons, the chiefest being that he deserved it. When
word was brought me by lumbermen of the nest of the Black Vulture
in the Limberlost, I hastened to tell my husband the wonderful
story of the big black bird, the downy white baby, the pale blue
egg, and to beg back a rashly made promise not to work in the
Limberlost. Being a natural history enthusiast himself, he agreed
that I must go; but he qualified the assent with the proviso that
no one less careful of me than he, might accompany me there. His
business had forced him to allow me to work alone, with hired
guides or the help of oilmen and farmers elsewhere; but a
Limberlost trip at that time was not to be joked about. It had
not been shorn, branded, and tamed. There were most excellent
reasons why I should not go there. Much of it was impenetrable.
Only a few trees had been taken out; oilmen were just invading