"They know this, and they
love it; but you and I are acquainted with something different. The
Limberlost is life. Here it is a carefully kept park. You motor, sail,
and golf, all so secure and fine. But what I like is the excitement of
choosing a path carefully, in the fear that the quagmire may reach out
and suck me down; to go into the swamp naked-handed and wrest from it
treasures that bring me books and clothing, and I like enough of a fight
for things that I always remember how I got them. I even enjoy seeing a
canny old vulture eyeing me as if it were saying: 'Ware the sting of
the rattler, lest I pick your bones as I did old Limber's.' I like
sufficient danger to put an edge on life. This is so tame. I should have
loved it when all the homes were cabins, and watchers for the stealthy
Indian canoes patrolled the shores. You wait until mother comes, and if
my violin isn't angry with me for leaving it, to-night we shall sing you
the Song of the Limberlost. You shall hear the big gold bees over the
red, yellow, and purple flowers, bird song, wind talk, and the whispers
of Sleepy Snake Creek, as it goes past you. You will know!" Elnora
turned to Freckles.
He nodded. "Who better?" he asked. "This is secure while the children
are so small, but when they grow larger, we are going farther north,
into real forest, where they can learn self-reliance and develop
backbone."
Elnora laid away the violin. "Come along, children," she said.
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