“Now, Ginkle, we must get to work,” said Grandfather.
“What do?” inquired the lad.
“Oh, we’ll just cut down a tree or two,” was the answer.
Soon a tree was selected, and to work went the ax. The woods fairly rang with the blows, the chips flew so that Ginkle had to dodge them, and very shortly two tall pines had fallen to the ground with a crash. The little boy ran away at first as if scared. However, he soon learned that there was no danger, and began to climb over the logs and run about, shouting till the woods rang.
“Grannyfader cut nudder tree?”
“Provided Ginkle will lend a hand,” said Grandfather, as he looked about. “Which one shall we take?”
“Dis one,” said Ginkle, petting the bark of a big tree.
“Not a bad choice,” answered the other, measuring the tree with his eye. In a moment Grandfather was in position and hard at work. Ginkle in the meantime ran about on the dry bedding of spines that covered the ground, ran in and out among the bushes, climbed upon the fallen logs of the trees that had been cut, and ran back and forth on their stems.
“Oh, boy,” exclaimed Grandfather, wiping the sweat from his brow, “I think we’ll eat our lunch.”
“Aw wight,” exclaimed Ginkle, who had been so busy as to forget to be hungry. They hunted up a shady place, not far from the spring, and Grandfather opened the basket. Sandwich after sandwich disappeared, and both ate and drank heartily.