John sat down, and Potter, glancing at him, saw that on his face there lay a strange expression—that through the soft color of sadness a ray of hope was shining. At length the boy said:
"Uncle Jeff told me the other day that the best way fur er boy ter make er man outen hisse'f is ter git out an' hussle. He ken git ernuther boy ter plow for his vidults an' clothes. Let me go with you."
"What, do you mean that you really want to go with me?"
"Yas."
"Let me lie down under this tree and sleep a little while, John. When I awake we will talk over the matter. The fact is I have been walking all day and am very tired."
[CHAPTER II.]
Had Potter been less tired, to sleep would not have required an effort. Nature's noises, it seemed, had conspired to "weigh the eyelids down" with pleasant drowsiness. The "chatter-jack," clinging to the nodding iron-weed's purple top, trilled his carol in praise of midsummer. The cat-bird, with soft nursing song, taught her young ones among the trumpet vines; and all the sounds were gathered up and borne away by breezes that brought sweetened scents from gullied hill-sides where larkspurs grew.
The boy sat gazing at his new-found friend, and with that innate admiration of the powerful, which is felt alike by the savage and the cultivated man, contemplated his great chest and mighty arms. Nature's sleep-wooing sounds began to affect him. He nodded, and felt himself sliding from the chair, but making no effort to regain his seat, he stretched himself upon the grass and slept.