He pushed the green stones into a little heap of rejected ones. Then he singled out all the pearls.
“Ain't they pretty things?” he said. “I'll be getting her some of those later. They are like lily faces, turtle-head flowers, dewdrops in the shade or moonlight; but they haven't the life in them that I want in the stone I give to the Angel right now.”
Freckles heaped the pearls with the emeralds. He studied the diamonds a long time.
“These things are so fascinating like they almost tempt one, though they ain't quite the proper thing,” he said. “I've always dearly loved to be watching yours, sir. I must get her some of these big ones, too, some day. They're like the Limberlost in January, when it's all ice-coated, and the sun is in the west and shines through and makes all you can see of the whole world look like fire and ice; but fire and ice ain't like the Angel.”
The diamonds joined the emeralds and pearls. There was left a little red heap, and Freckles' fingers touched it with a new tenderness. His eyes were flashing.
“I'm thinking here's me Angel's stone,” he exulted. “The Limberlost, and me with it, grew in mine; but it's going to bloom, and her with it, in this! There's the red of the wild poppies, the cardinal-flowers, and the little bunch of crushed foxfire that we found where she put it to save me. There's the light of the campfire, and the sun setting over Sleepy Snake Creek. There's the red of the blood we were willing to give for each other. It's like her lips, and like the drops that dried on her beautiful arm that first day, and I'm thinking it must be like the brave, tender, clean, red heart of her.”
Freckles lifted the ruby to his lips and handed it to McLean.
“I'll be signing me cheque and you have it set,” he said. “I want you to draw me money and pay for it with those very same dollars, sir.”
Again the heart of McLean took hope.
“Freckles, may I ask you something?” he said.