CHAPTER I 



A Tale from the Skidway 



A BARE-FOOTED, tanned-faced boy, dressed 

 in brown denim overalls and a jumper, sat 

 astride a mammoth pine log in the mill yard, 

 carving his initials in bold letters in the soft 

 bark of the pine. He whistled and smiled 

 as he carved and seemed well content with 

 his occupation and surroundings. 



It was always a pleasure for the boy to be 

 about the mill. The hurrying belts, the mad 

 gearing and the screaming circular saw were 

 all wonderful. There was a certain poetry 

 and rhythm in this mad rushing machinery 

 that fascinated, even while it terrified. The 

 boy never could quite understand how the 

 water which slipped so easily into the end of 

 the flume, only laving his hand slightly as he 

 held it in the current, could be turned into 

 such mad careering force. 



