The two choppers were kept busy from morning dawn to sunset. They were
skilled craftsmen, trained from early days in woodland lore. One, old
Henry, thoroughly enjoyed his work and at times snatches of a familiar
song fell from his lips as his axe bit deep into the side of some large
tree.
"You did that well, Henry," Stephen one day remarked, as he watched a
monster spruce wing its way to earth with a terrific crash.
"It's all in knowin' how," was the deliberate reply, as the old man began
to trim the prostrate form. "Now, a greenhorn 'ud rush in, an' hack an'
chop any old way, an' afore he knew what he was doin' the tree 'ud be
tumblin' down in the wrong place, an' mebbe right a-top of 'im at that.
But I size things up a bit afore I hit a clip. Havin' made up me mind as
to the best spot to fell her, I swing to, an' whar I pint her thar she
goes; that's all thar is about it."
"But doesn't the wind bother you sometimes?" Stephen inquired.
The chopper walked deliberately to the butt-end of the tree, and with the
pole of his axe marked off the length of the log. Then he moistened his
hands and drove the keen blade through the juicy bark deep into the wood.
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