t of the boy.

Nature always levies her tribute. Now she laid a powerful hand on the
soul of Freckles, to which the boy's whole being responded, though
he had not the least idea what was troubling him. Duncan accepted his
wife's theory that it was a touch of spring fever, but Freckles knew
better. He never had been so well. Clean, hot, and steady the blood
pulsed in his veins. He was always hungry, and his most difficult work
tired him not at all. For long months, without a single intermission,
he had tramped those seven miles of trail twice each day, through every
conceivable state of weather. With the heavy club he gave his wires a
sure test, and between sections, first in play, afterward to keep his
circulation going, he had acquired the skill of an expert drum major.
In his work there was exercise for every muscle of his body each hour of
the day, at night a bath, wholesome food, and sound sleep in a room that
never knew fire. He had gained flesh and color, and developed a greater
strength and endurance than anyone ever could have guessed.

Nor did the Limberlost contain last year's terrors. He had been with
her in her hour of desolation, when stripped bare and deserted, she had
stood shivering, as if herself afraid. He had made excursions into the
interior until he was familiar with every path and road that ever
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 de