158 
WALDEN. 
his work a couple of miles past my house,— for he 
chopped all summer, — in a tin pail; cold meats, often 
cold woodchucks, and coffee in a stone bottle which dan¬ 
gled by a string from his belt; and sometimes he offered 
me a drink. He came along early, crossing my bean- 
field, though without anxiety or haste to get to his 
work, such as Yankees exhibit. He wasn’t a-going to 
hurt himself. He didn’t care if he only earned his 
board. Frequently he would leave his dinner in the 
bushes, when his dog had caught a woodchuck by the 
way, and go back a mile and a half to dress it and leave 
it in the cellar of the house where he boarded, after de¬ 
liberating first for half an hour whether he could not 
sink it in the pond safely till nightfall, — loving to dwell 
long upon these themes. He would say, as he went by 
in the morning, “ How thick the pigeons are! If 
working every day were not my trade, I could get all 
the meat I should want by hunting, — pigeons, wood¬ 
chucks, rabbits, partridges, — by gosh! I could get all 
I should want for a week in one day.” 
He was a skilful chopper, and indulged in some 
flourishes and ornaments in his art. He cut his trees 
level and close to the ground, that the sprouts which 
came up afterward might be more vigorous and a sled 
might slide over the stumps; and instead of leaving a 
whole tree to support his corded wood, he would pare 
it away to a slender stake or splinter which you could 
break off with your hand at last. 
He interested me because he was so quiet and soli¬ 
tary and so happy withal; a well of good humor and 
contentment which overflowed at his eyes. His mirth 
was without alloy. Sometimes I saw him at his work 
in the woods, felling trees, and he would greet me with 
