ADVENTURES WITH AN AX 295 



tree to topple over, the end of the pole seemingly 

 in the shape of a flat wedge. But to fell a tree over 

 four inches in diameter with three blows requires 

 both strength and accuracy, while to fell a small 

 tree of two or three inches without having your ax 

 cut clean through on the second or third blow and 

 chipping its edge on a stone requires both accuracy 

 and judgment. All I can say about myself is that 

 my game is improving. I am still a long way from 

 par, but I am no longer in the duffer class; I have 

 the endurance, and when I keep my mind on the 

 job, which means when I keep my eye on the spot I 

 hope to hit, I can get a tree down with something 

 like the minimum number of strokes. But when 

 I let my mind wander I take ten strokes on a six- 

 inch trunk, where I should need but five, and the 

 stub looks as if it had been chewed rather than 

 chopped. 



And it is so easy to let your mind wander from 

 the job, even in spite of the glorious sensation of 

 heaving up the ax and then sending its gleaming 

 head downward, the weight pulling at your shoul- 

 ders as it falls, the acceleration of pace as the blade 

 is about to bite the wood accomplished by a stif- 

 fening of the wrists and forearms. My mind wan- 

 ders, first, because under the cover of the birches 

 are scores and scores of little pines, ranging in size 

 from seedlings six inches high to trees of ten feet, 

 at which height their tops, deprived of sun and 

 air, begin to die, and in a year or two the whole 

 tree goes, if the birches are not removed around it. 

 Getting out my season's wood-supply from a quar- 

 ter-acre of the birches means uncovering a quarter- 



