happier life. The
loneliness at his heart was gone. The feeling of hopeless imprisonment
that the miles and miles of streets had terrified him with gave place
to one of freedom and exaltation. Above him he heard the rasping of
pine boughs; his feet trod on a rebounding mat of decay; the sky was as
coldly blue as the bosom of Huron. He walked as if on ether, singing a
senseless jargon the woodmen had aroused the echoes with:

"Hi yi halloo!
The owl sees you!
Look what you do!
Hi yi halloo!"

Swung over his shoulder was a stick he had used to assist his limping
gait, but now transformed into the beloved axe. He would reach the
clearing soon, he thought, and strode on like a giant, while people
hurried from his path. Suddenly a smooth trunk, stripped of its bark and
bleached by weather, arose before him.

"Hi yi halloo!" High went the wasted arm--crash!--a broken staff, a
jingle of wires, a maddened, shouting man the centre of a group of
amused spectators! 'A few moments later, four broad-shouldered men in
blue had him in their grasp, pinioned and guarded, clattering over the
noisy streets behind two spirited horses. They drew after them a troop
of noisy, jeering boys, who danced about the wagon like a swirl of
autumn leaves. Then came a halt, and Luther was dragged up the steps of
a square brick building with a belfry on the top. They entered a large
bare room with benches ranged about the walls, and brought him before a
man at a desk.

"What is your name?" asked the man at the desk.

"Hi yi halloo!" said Luther.

"He's drunk, sergeant," said one of the men in blue, and the axe-man was
led into the basement. He was conscious of an involuntary resistance, a
short struggle, and a final shock of pain--then oblivion.

The chopper awoke to the realization of three stone walls and an iron
grating in front. Through this he looked out upon a stone flooring
across which was a row of similar apartments. He neither knew nor cared
where he was. The feeling of imprisonment was no greater than he had
felt on the endless, cheerless streets. He laid himself on the bench
that ran along a side wall, and, closing his eyes, listened to the
babble of the clear stream and the thunder of the "drive" on its
journey. How the logs hurried and jostled! crushing, whirling, ducking,
with the merry lads leaping about them with shouts and laughter.
Suddenly he was recalled by a voice. Some one handed a narrow tin cup
full