The hot earth steamed at the
touch, and, burning with thirst, quickly drank in the moisture. The wind
grew and the drops fell faster. The heat fled away, driven by the waves
of cool, fresh air that came out of the west. Washed by the rain the dry
grass straightened up, and the dying leaves opened out, springing into
new life. Faster and faster came the drops and now the sound they made
was like the steady patter of musketry. Henry opened his mouth and
breathed the fresh clean air, and he felt that like the leaves and grass
he, too, was gaining new life.
When he went forth the next day in the dripping forest the wilderness
seemed to be alive. The game swarmed everywhere and he was a lazy man
who could not take what he wished. It was like a late touch of spring,
but it did not last long, for then the frosts came, the air grew crisp
and cool and the foliage of the forest turned to wonderful reds and
yellows and browns. From the summit of the blockhouse tower Henry saw a
great blaze of varied color, and he thought that he liked this part of
the year best. He could feel his own strength grow, and now that cold
weather was soon to come he would learn new ways to seek game and new
phases of the wilderness.
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