“So do I; ye can’t flop quicker than mesilf; it isn’t the first time me tongue has stubbed its toe.”
“I shall be glad,” said the Instructor, addressing Jack Grandall of the Stag Patrol, “if you will tell me something about the white pine.”
“It is the most famous tree in Maine and gives its name to the state. Many hundreds of thousands of acres are covered with it and millions of feet are taken out every year. It forms the basis of the lumbermen’s industry, one of the chief sources of wealth and in whose behalf the utmost care is taken to save it from destruction by fire.”
“Describe it more particularly.”
“The leaves grow in bunches of five; they are four or five inches long, with the cones a little longer. The wood is soft, pungent, easily split, very buoyant, with straight grain and very inflammable. The resinous pine knots make the best of torches.”
“Suppose a fire gets started among the pines?”
“It sweeps everything before it. There are a good many kinds of pines, which are told from one another by their cones. The tree is an evergreen.”
“How tall is the one before us?”
Several made guesses and it was generally agreed that the splendid specimen was very nearly if not quite two hundred feet high.
“I shall not accept any guesses,” remarked the Instructor; “I wish to know the exact height.”