Well, it was the next spring after me and Tom Sawyer set our old nigger Jim free, the time he was chained up for a runaway slave down there on Tom’s uncle Silas’s farm in Arkansaw. The frost was wor­king out of the ground, and out of the air, too, and it was getting closer and closer onto barefoot time every day and next it would be marble time, and next mumbletypeg, and next tops and hoops, and next ki­tes, and then right away it would be summer and go­ing in a-swimming. It just makes a boy homesick to look ahead like that and see how far off summer is.