then bade his host good-bye.
"Don't overwork!" grinned Jim sociably. "I'll write to old Doc McPherson when I git back."
"And when will that be, Jim?"
"I ain't goin' ter predict." White set his lips. "When I stay, I stay, but once I take ter the woods there ain't no sayin'. I'll fetch fodder when I cum, and mail, too--but I ain't goin' ter hobble myself when I take ter the sticks."
Tramping back alone over the wet autumn leaves, Truedale had his first sense of loneliness since he came. White, he suddenly realized, had meant to him everything that he needed, but with White unhobbled in the deep woods, how was he to fill the time? He determined to force himself to study. He had wedged one solid volume in his trunk, unknown to his friends. He would brush up his capacity for work--it could not hurt him now. He was as strong as he had ever been in his life and the prospect ahead promised greater gains.
Yes, he would study. He would write letters, too--real letters. He had neglect