"I said this mornin' that it wuz goin' to be a hard winter," growled Jim Hart. "You heard me sayin' so, an' that's the reason you're sayin' so now."
"Oh, Jim, Jim! Whatever will become o' you?" exclaimed Shif'less Sol sadly. "An' I've always tried to teach you that the truth wuz the right thing."
Paul laughed.
"Sol," he asked, "did you ever see a game of chess?"
"Chess? What's that? Is it a mark you shoot at?"
"No; you play it on a board with little figures made of wood, if you haven't got anything else. My father has a set of chessmen, and he plays often with Mr. Pennypacker, our school teacher. He's played with me, too, and I can show you how to make the things and to play."
A look of interest came into Sol's eyes.
"We've got lots o' time," he said. "S'pose you do it, Paul. I know I kin learn. I ain't so sure o' Jim Hart thar."
Jim was also interested, so much so that he forgot to reply to Shif'less Sol.
"How'll you do it?" he asked.