times. But at feeding hour he descended to the park and
snatched bites from the biggest turkey cocks and ganders and reigned in
power absolute over ducks, guineas, and chickens. Then he followed to
the barn and tried to frighten crows and jays, and the gentle white
doves under the eaves.

The Harvester walked through deep leaves and snow covering the road that
only a forester could have distinguished. Over his shoulder he carried
a mattock, and in the wagon were his clippers and an ax. Behind him came
Betsy drawing the sap buckets and big evaporating kettles. Through the
wood ranged Belshazzar, the craziest dog in all creation. He always went
wild at sap time. Here was none of the monotony of trapping for skins
around the lake. This marked the first full day in the woods for
the season. He ranged as he pleased and came for a pat or a look of
confidence when he grew lonely, while the Harvester worked.

At camp the man unhitched Betsy and tied her to the wagon and for
several hours distributed buckets. Then he hung the kettles and gathered
wood for the fire. At noon he returned to the cabin for lunch and
brought back a load of empty syrup cans, and barrels in which to collect
the sap. While the buckets filled at the dripping trees, he dug roots in
the sassafras thicket to fill orders and supply the demand of Onabasha
for tea. Several times he stopped to cut an especially fine tree.

"You know I hate to kill you," he apologized to the first one he felled.
"But it certainly must be legitimate for a man to take enough of his
trees to build a home. And no other house is possible for a creature of
the woods but a cabin, is there? The birds use of the material they find
here; surely I have the right to do the same. Seems as if nothing else
would serve, at least for me. I was born and reared here, I've always
loved you; of course, I can't use anything else for my home."

He swung the ax and the chips flew as he worked on a straight half-grown
oak. After a time he paused an instant and rested, and as he did so he
looked speculatively at his work.

"I wonder where she is to-day," he said. "I wonder what she is going to
think of a log cabin in the woods. Maybe she has been reared in the
city and is afraid of a forest. She may not like houses made of logs.
Possibly she won't want to marry a Medicine Man. She may dislike the
man, not to mention his occupation. She may think it coarse and common
to work out of doors with your hand