ling that the wood left in
market after grandfather had made his selection wasn't worth hauling
away!

Load after load was driven up to the high backyard fence and its sticks
heaved into the yard and piled in perfect order--and it made a goodly
and formidable showing when Old Pete, the wood-sawyer, finally arrived
on the scene. The time of wood-buying was determined partly by Pete's
engagements--he went first to the Perkinses and next to the Williamses
and so on in rotation as he had done for years, his entire winter being
"engaged" far ahead. It did not seem possible, to boyish mind, that one
man could ever get all that wood sawed and split, even if he was a
great giant Norseman with the finest buck-saw in the country.

But each year Old Pete's prowess seemed to increase--and day after day
the ceaseless music of his saw sounded across the crisp air--and the
measured strokes of his axe struck a clarion note--until finally the
yard showed only chips and saw-dust where that vast wood-pile had
been--and the big barn was piled full to the rafters--the kitchen wood
and chunks on one side, the big wood on the other.

Then Pete would come in and announce that the job was done--and
grandfather would bundle-up and go out for a final inspection. Pete
removed the pad from his leg (you remember the carpet he wore on his
left knee--the one that held the stick in place in the buck when he was
sawing) and together they went into the barn--and talked it all
over--and Pete said it was harder wood than last year's and more knots
in it and ought to be worth two shillings more than contract price--and
grandfather finally allowed the excess--and Old Pete came in and got
his money (in gold and silver) and a bowl of coffee and some bread--and
went his way to the Jonesses or some other folks.

And you, young man--you surely hated to see that great Viking go--for
he had told you many a wonderful tale at the noon hour as he munched
his thick sandwiches--and no one could look at his massive head and
huge shoulders and great beard and hair and doubt that his forebears
had done all that he credited to them.

Somehow, Old Pete seemed more real than most men you knew--except
grandfather, of course. There was something unexplainable in the man
and his work that rang true--something that was so wholesome and sound.
He wasn't like old Hawkins, the grocer--he'd as lief give you a rotten
apple as not if he could smuggle it into the bag without you se