"You'll have to be patient with me for a little while, Henry,"
said Sol in a tone of humility. "When I wuz layin' thar in the
lodge with my hands an' feet tied I wuz about eighty years old,
jest ez stiff ez could be from the long tyin'. When I reached
the edge o' the woods the blood wuz flowin' lively enough to make
me 'bout sixty. Now I reckon I'm fifty, an' ef things go well
I'll be back to my own nateral age in two or three hours."
"You shall have rest before morning," said Henry, "and it will be
in a good place, too. I can promise that."
Shif'less Sol looked at him inquiringly, but he did not say
anything. Like the rest of the five, Sol had acquired the most
implicit confidence in their bold young leader. He had every
reason to feel good. That painful soreness was disappearing from
his ankles. As they advanced through the woods, weeks dropped
from him one by one. Then the months began to roll away, and at
last time fell year by year. As they approached the deeps of the
forest where the swamp lay, Solomon Hyde, the so called shiftless
one, and wholly undeserving of the name, was young again.
"I've got a fine little home for us, Sol," said Henry.
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