ry, and lost his footing, then caught at the gunwale, and sat
down again in despair. It was like the panic of a madman, and he
cursed and swore at old Ferris for his sins, with nothing to hear him
but the busy waves that glistened between him and the shore. Ferris
had stolen his chance; he was coming along with his rigging as fast as
he could, with his quick French wood-choppers, and their sharp saws
and stubborn wedges to cant the trunks; already he was not far from
the farm. Old Ferris was going to set up his yellow sawdust-mill
there--that was the plan; the great trunks were too heavy to handle or
haul any distance with any trucks or sleds that were used nowadays. It
would be all over before anybody could get ashore to stop them; he
would risk old Ferris for that.

Packer began to row with all his might; he had left the sail ashore.
The oars grew hot at the wooden thole-pins, and he pulled and pulled.
There would be three quarters of a mile to run up-hill to the house,
and another bit to the trees themselves, after he got in. By that time
the two-man saw, and the wedges, and the Frenchmen's shining axes,
might have spoiled the landmark pines.

"Lizzie's there--she'll hold 'em back till I come," he gasped, as he
passed Fish Rock. "Oh, Lord! what a fool! I ain't goin' to have them
trees murdered;" and he set his teeth hard, and rowed with all his
might.

Joe Banks looked out of the little four-paned fish-house window, and
saw the dory coming, and hurried to the door. "What's he puttin' in so
for?" said he to himself, and looked up the coast to see if anything
had happened; the house might be on fire. But all the quiet farms
looked untroubled. "He's pullin' at them oars as if the devil was
after him," said Joe to himself. "He couldn't ha' heard o' that
petition they're gettin' up from none of the fish he's hauled in; 't
will 'bout set him crazy, but I was bound I'd sign it with the rest.
The old dory's jumpin' right out of water every stroke he pulls."

V.

The next night the Packer farmhouse stood in the winter landscape
under the full moon, just as it had stood always, with a light in the
kitchen window, and a plume of smoke above the great, square chimney.
It was about half past seven o'clock. A group of men were lurking at
the back of the barn, like robbers, and speaking in low tones. Now and
then the horse stamped in the barn, or a cow lowed; a dog was barking,
away over on the next farm, with an anxious to