Part 6 (1/2)
”No, less don't do that.”
”Why?”
”'Cause Ma don't 'low me to go in the creek till June--says I might ketch my death o' cold.”
”Shucks! I've been in twice already!”
”Have ye?”
”Yep!”
”And ye didn't get sick?”
”Do I _look_ sick?”
”Not a bit.”
”Well, then?”
”All right--we'll go.”
The spirit of freedom born of the fields and woods had grown into something more than an att.i.tude of mind. He was ready for the deed--the positive act of adventure. He didn't like to disobey his mother. But he couldn't afford to let Austin think that he was a molly-coddle, a mere babe hanging to her skirts. He was doing a man's work. It was time he took a few of man's privileges.
He revelled in the situation of adventure that night and saw himself the hero of stirring scenes.
Next morning on Austin's arrival he asked his mother to let him stay at home and play.
”Don't you want to go to meeting and hear the new preacher?” she asked persuasively.
”No, I'm tired.”
The mother smiled indulgently. He was young--far too young yet to know the meaning of true religion. She was a Baptist, and the first principle of her religion was personal faith and direct relations of the individual soul with G.o.d. She remembered her own hours of torture in childhood.
”All right, Boy,” she said graciously. ”Be good now, while we're gone.”
His big toe was digging in the dirt while he murmured:
”Yes'm.”
The wagon had no sooner disappeared than he and Austin were flying with swift bare feet along the path that led to the creek. It was the hottest day of the spring--a close air and broiling sun to be remembered longer than the hottest day of August.
They ran for a mile without a pause, rolled in the sand on the banks of the creek and shouted their joy in perfect freedom. They explored the deep cane brakes and stalked imaginary buffaloes and bears without number, encountering nothing bigger than a grey fox and a couple of muskrats.
”Let's cross over!” Austin cried. ”I saw a bear track on that side one day. We can trail him to his den and show him to your Pap when he comes home. Here's a log!”
The Boy looked dubiously, measured it with his eye, and shook his head.
”Nope--it's too little and too high in the air--it'll wobble,” he declared.
”But we can c.o.o.n it over!” Austin urged. ”We can grab hold of a limb over there and slide down--it's easy--come on!”