He had walked the timber-line ten months. His pay
was thirty dollars a month, and his board cost him eight. That left
twenty-two dollars a month, and his clothing had cost him very little.
At the least he had two hundred dollars in the bank. He drew a deep
breath and smiled at the sky with satisfaction.
"I'll be having a book about all the birds, trees, flowers, butterflies,
and----Yes, by gummy! I'll be having one about the frogs--if it takes
every cent I have," he promised himself.
He put away the account-book, that was his most cherished possession,
caught up his stick, and started down the line. The even tap, tap, and
the cheery, gladsome whistle carried far ahead of him the message that
Freckles was himself again.
He fell into a rapid pace, for he had lost time that morning; when he
rounded the last curve he was almost running. There was a chance that
the Boss might be there for his weekly report.
Then, wavering, flickering, darting here and there over the sweet
marsh-grass, came a large black shadow, sweeping so closely before him
that for the second time that morning Freckles dodged and sprang back.
Pages:
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66