such an odd mixture of insolence
and apparent kindness. The Yankee took the adze from his hand before he
could speak, and set about hollowing troughs very rapidly.

'You chop, and I'll scoop, for a start. Now I guess you hain't been used
to this sort of thing, when you was to hum? You needn't hardly tell, for
white hands like yourn there ain't o' much use nohow in the bush. You
must come down a peg, I reckon, and let 'em blacken like other folks,
and grow kinder hard, afore they'll take to the axe properly. How many
acres do you intend to clear this winter?'

'As many as I can.'

'Humph! you should blaze 'em off all round, and work 'em reglar. You
han't more than a month's "brushing" now. Are you married?'

'No,' replied Robert, waxing fierce internally at this catechism. 'Are
you?' by way of retaliation.

'This twenty year. Raised most of our family in the States. The old
woman's spry enough yet, as you'll see when you come to the "Corner."'

All this time Mr. Bunting was chewing tobacco, and discharging the
fluid about with marvellous copiousness, at intervals. Robert thought
his dried-up appearance capable of explanation. 'What made you come to
settle in the bush?' was his next question.

'Holt!' called out Robert, quite unable patiently to endure any further
cross-examination; and he walked away through the trees to say to his
friend,--'There's an intolerable Yankee yonder, splitting troughs as
fast as possible, but his tongue is more than I can bear.'

'Leave him to me,' answered Sam; 'his labour is worth a little annoyance,
anyhow. I'll fix him.' But he quietly continued at his own work,
notwithstanding, and kept Robert beside him.

Mr. Bunting speedily tired of manufacturing the basswood troughs alone,
and sloped over to the group who were raising the walls of the shanty.

'Wal, I guess you're gitting along considerable smart,' he observed,
after a lengthened stare, which amused Arthur highly for the concentration
of inquisitiveness it betrayed. ''Tain't an easy job for greenhorns
nohow; but you take to it kinder nateral, like the wood-duck to the
pond.' He chewed awhile, watching Sam's proceedings narrowly. 'I guess
this ain't your first time of notching logs, by a long chalk, stranger?'

'Perhaps so, perhaps not,' was the reply. 'Here, lend a hand with this
stick, Mr. Bunting.'

Zack took his hands from the pockets of his lean rusty trousers, and
helped to fit the log to its place on the front wal