They camped that night in the spruces of Silver Creek, in one of the prettiest little places that ever lay out of doors. As they prepared the supper and ate it, sharing plate, cup and spoon, the boy was fairly ecstatic.
“Dis is der bulliest ol’ time dat ever I had,” said he. “I didn’t know dere was places like dis ’tall, ’cept Cintral Park. Yer can run aroun’ here all yer like, can’t yer, Mister? Nobuddy’ll stop yer?”
“Not if you ran a thousand miles, Ches. This is the free land, boy. You can do what you like.” Jim spoke with warmth, for, although he felt that the child could not understand, yet the love of the country swelled in him so hot that he could never speak of it carelessly.
“Dat’s prutty damn good,” responded Ches.
“It is,” replied Jim. “Now, Ches, will you do something to oblige me?”
“Sure!”
“Well, then, don’t swear. I don’t like to hear boys swear.”
“I won’t cuss another cuss, if I kin help it. Dey’ll come out too quick for me sometimes, but I’ll try to do dat, now.”
“Thank you. Now, let’s get the stuff cleared up and roll in.”
In the middle of the night Jim heard a strange noise, a puzzling sound he could not trace. Becoming wider awake, it resolved itself into a stifled weeping.