A FROSTY MORNING 91 



pace. By that time the sun had begun to make 

 itself felt. At the end of the second mile the 

 temperature was nothing less than summer-like, 

 and before the third mile was finished my coat 

 was on my arm ; and as I came down one of the 

 city streets, on my return at noon, and met two 

 Seminole Indians walking abroad dressed, after 

 their airy fashion, in nothing but waistcoat and 

 shirt, the sight of their comfortable uncivilized 

 legs was calculated to make a perspiring man 

 envious. 



By nine o'clock, indeed, the weather was 

 superb ; but presently I came to an opening in 

 the woods. Here was a field of tomato plants in 

 front of a new, unpainted house. Some recent 

 settler had cleared a piece of ground and estab- 

 lished a home in this land of perpetual summer. 

 And to support himself and his family he had 

 " gone into early tomatoes." So much was to be 

 seen at a glance. And yes, there stood the man 

 himself in the midst of his plantation. I went 

 near and accosted him, expressing my hope that 

 the frost (for by this time it was plain there had 

 been one) had not damaged his crop. He had 

 been badly frightened in the night, he confessed, 

 but thought he had mostly escaped harm. "I 

 was glad," he said, dwelling upon the verb with 

 a pleasant foreign accent, " when I saw the ther- 



