The things we do!

Freckles set his hat over the top of one of the locust posts used
between trees to hold up the wire while he fastened the feather securely
in the band. Then he started down the line, talking to himself as men
who have worked long alone always fall into the habit of doing.
"What a fool I have been!" he muttered. "Of course that's what I have to
do! There wouldn't likely anybody be doing it for me. Of course I can!
What am I a man for? If I was a four-footed thing of the swamp, maybe I
couldn't; but a man can do anything if he's the grit to work hard enough
and stick at it, Mr. McLean is always saying, and here's the way I am to
do it. He said, too, that there were people that knew everything in the
swamp. Of course they have written books! The thing for me to be doing
is to quit moping and be buying some. Never bought a book in me life,
or anything else of much account, for that matter. Oh, ain't I glad I
didn't waste me money! I'll surely be having enough to get a few. Let me
see."
Freckles sat on a log, took his pencil and account-book, and figured
on a back page.


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