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the story or the oak tree 
Weeks pass, and months. On the banks of the stream 
where lie Captain Jack’s masts the water rises higher 
and higher as the ice breaks and the thaw begins. With 
cant hooks and peavies Jack’s logs, and hundreds like 
them, are flushed into the rushing water, and the drive 
to the saw-mill begins. 
And what a drive this is! For miles upon miles the 
great mass of timber rides easily upon the current, and 
the driver rides with them. Nimbly he leaps from log 
to log; pushing this log and turning that one, he guides 
Woodsmen Driving Cogs Down a Stream 
them upon their course. What he dreads most of all is 
to see his logs jam; that happens when somewhere one 
log gets twisted and blocks the passage so that the whole 
