
Dreaming Back 
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ALE CL GAL LRA LOGE SD Gs OLE 
* Pee ee 
I Begin the Clearing and Stumble on a Mysterious Trail—Part II 
AM seated before the delapidated 
desk with the red blotter. The 
sprig of cedar lies there. 
Across the hall from my New York 
room there dwells a Fiddler. He is 
good, too. He plays in the theater 
orchestras when he works. But the 
supply of fiddlers is in excess of the 
demand; consequently this Fiddler 
spends much of his time in his: fur- 
nished room, and fiddles to pass the 
time away. Sometimes he plays dolo- 
rous ditties, then again he plays some 
light, -airy, lilting melody that is sug- 
gestive of birds and trees and wood 
nymphs dancing. He is playing such 
a melody now; and as he plays I can 
see the trees waving and hear the 
birds singing in the woods that en- 
‘circled the tent in that far western 
forest. The shadows caused by the 
wave of the tree branches in the 
breeze blowing from the Straits flit 
about me like wood-nymphs as, with 
axe on shoulder, I approach the first 
tree that is to be felled to clear the 
trail from my tent to the main road. 
I have not had breakfast, but I’m 
eager to get started so I can have the 
lumber brought for my cabin. 
The tree is a fir,—tall, straight, 
perhaps a foot in diameter. I look 
about me, proudly self-conscious, be- 
fore I swing my new, keen-bitted axe. 
By FRED A. BARROW 
I breathe deep of the scented air, bal- 
samic in its healing power, better than 
the best of wine as a stimulant. Then 
I let my right hand slide up and down 
the smooth, hickory, axe helve. The 
invitation is urgent, irresistible. The 
axe-head ascends above my _ right 
shoulder and well around to my back; 
then down it comes, and its sharp edge 
cuts clean into the tree trunk, sink- 
ing through the thick bark and into 
the solid. wood. Clearing operations 
have begun! 
There is no exercise like swinging 
an axe in the early morning air of the 
woods to set the full flood of life surg- 
ing through the veins of a man. It 
is an exercise that works every muscle 
of the body, from the toes to the 
scalp. Moreover, it would seem as 
though the ebbing life of the tree 
flowed through the vibrating axe helve 
and into the body of the wood-chopper. 
This is my third day in the woods. 
The second was a very rainy one, 
and I was occupied in fixing up my 
tent so that a second rainfall should 
not set me floating. 
I also greased my rifle, which I 
feared might rust on account of 
the dampness in the tent. Dur- 
ing spells between showers I had 
visited the beach and the spring of 
water on the bank. I had also fixed 
sides to Peter’s stall, using poles 
and wide strips of cedar bark for 
this purpose. This, and an occasional 
dip into one or two of the books I 
had brought with me, made a day. 
UT this morning the sun shone 
brilliantly, and the air was cool 
and bracing. It was not long after 
that first stroke of my axe before I 
felt the fir tree quiver. I went to 
work then and began to cut in on the 
opposite side of the trunk, a little 
higher than the first cut. It wouldn't 
be long, now, before the tree came 
crashing down. 
Crashing down! Where? Only just 
in time did I notice that the tree 
would fall on Peter’s shelter. I had 
been careful to plan that it would not 
fall on my tent, but I had not con- 
sidered where it would hit in falling 
the opposite way. By means of a rope 
tied from the fir to another tree, and 
a crotched pole wedged under a lower 
branch, I managed to direct the fall 
of the fir so that it would not destroy 
any of my property. In a few min- 
utes it started to go, its sturdy straight 
length inclining slowly, reluctantly: 
then with a magnificent sweep it 
came crashing to earth. It was posi- 
tively startling, the suddenness with 
which increased light rushed down 
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