"I like that young chap," murmured the squire.
Dave found the house of his employer, left word at the door that he was sent to look after the wood, and went into the shed.
"Here is the chopping-block, and there is the axe, and the saw is all right. I will take my tools outdoors, where my wood is," said Dave.
It was a day in early spring. Snow still clung to the corners of gardens, and hid away under the bushes, and lay thick on the shaded side of buildings. The sun, though, was strengthening its fires every day, and had coaxed a few bluebirds to come north, and say that warm weather had surely started from its southern home, and would be here in due season, though a bit delayed, perhaps. Two hours later, Dave's axe was striking music out of the pieces of wood the saw had first played a tune on; and it is that kind of music that helps a man to feel independent and self-reliant, contented and cheerful.
"Hollo! that you?" sang out a voice. "How are you, old man?"
Dave looked up, and saw Dick Pray nodding over the fence.
"The old man has found work, you see," replied Dave.
"None of that sort for me," sang out Dick.
In about half-an-hour another voice was calling to him across the garden fence. This was not the flexible, smooth, rounded voice of youth addressing Dave, but there were the tones of an old man. There was a world of friendship, though, in this old man's salutation, "How d'ye do? how d'ye do?"
Dave turned toward it, and there was the old light-keeper, Toby Tolman.