man, plunged in a lethargy of remorse and
disappointment which threatened never to lighten. Since her mother's
death, life would have been almost unendurable to Stephanie had it not
been for two things: these were the passionate affection existing
between herself and Dick, and her intense love for and kinship with
nature. All her scanty hours of idleness she spent roaming about the
clearing or the edge of the forest--she knew the haunts of every weed
and flower for a mile around. In the winter, flocks of little hungry
birds were her pensioners, and it is likely that she would have
seriously diminished their own stores in feeding them, had not Dick
collected berries and wild rice and seeds in the fall as a provision
for emergencies.

On this keen autumn morning there were very few birds about; the robins
had flown, and the owls were going to bed; far away some noisy crows
wheeled and cawed above the trees, but no longer could Stephanie hear
the innumerable small twitterings and tentative songs of a morning in
the summer. The forest was very silent. Indeed, the only sound that
broke the half-awakened quietness was the distant thud and throb of
axes biting deep into the trunk of a tree.

It was a curiously insistent sound, that seemed to claim more notice
than it was worth. Very clearly on the clear air was borne the noise
of every blow, and occasionally a faint crack as of a blade being
wrenched away. It forced itself on Stephanie's attention, growing
louder and fainter as slight breaths of wind moved the hazy air, but
never ceasing in its continual, irregular thud--thud; thud--thud. Her
father and Dick were chopping down the half-dead pine; she could
distinguish the difference between the weight of their respective
strokes.

Half unconsciously she listened. There was no cessation in the dull
noise; and to her it seemed full of threat and menace. She fancied
that the other trees must be shaking all their remaining leaves in fear
that a like fate might befall them, and she hoped that Dick had
remembered to chase the chipmunk out of his hole. The chipmunk had
been a friend of hers, and she used to drop acorns at the foot of the
tree where he might find them. Vaguely she wondered whether she would
recognise the little fellow again if she saw him in some other tree,
and concluded that it was scarcely possible. While all the time the
thud--thud of the axes seemed to weave itself into a sort of irregular
accom