“What makes your grandfather have them cut so long, they can never be put into a cart?” said James.
“This wood is for next winter, and won’t be hauled till snow comes, and then it will be hauled on two sleds put one behind the other.”
Mrs. Whitman insisted that grandfather should take a nap after dinner, and as Bertie had to wait to haul him out, James went to the wood-lot alone. He had felled a large hemlock and was cutting off the first log, when he observed a man on horseback attentively watching him. In a few moments the man rode up and inquired where Mr. Whitman was. James replied that he had gone to the mill with a load of wheat. He then inquired if the oxen were there, James told him they would be along in a few minutes, and as they were talking Bertie and the old gentleman came. This person was the drover who had seen James holding plough, and who occasioned so much merriment by saying so at the tavern. He felt of the cattle, took a chain from his pocket, measured them, and then told the old gentleman to inform his son to be at home the next Monday, for he was coming that way then, and wanted to trade with him for the oxen and some lambs.
When, on the next Saturday night, the usual company of idlers and hard drinkers assembled in the bar-room of the tavern, the drover added still more to the muddle of conflicting opinions in regard to James by telling the crowd that he “went through the woods to Malcom’s, after lambs, and, as he returned through Whitman’s woods, came across the redemptioner chopping alone. That he had just cut a big hemlock and was junking it up and handled an axe right smart. That he made some talk with him and called him a real good-looking, rugged, civil-spoken fellow,” and went on to say that he “wouldn’t give him for two, yes, three, of that Blaisdell, Mr. Woods had got. The boy certainly was not lame, for he stood on the tree to chop, and when he got down to speak to him didn’t limp a particle, and he believed all the stories told about him were a pack of lies, got up to hurt a civil young man because he was a foreigner.”
This brought out the tavern-keeper, and the dispute came near ending in a downright brawl, and was only prevented by the drover proposing to “treat all hands and drop it.”
The elder Whitman was so much gratified with the progress made by James that he resolved to make him aware of it. The next day proved stormy, and after breakfast he brought out an axe that had been ground, and said,—
“James, that axe of yours is not fit to chop with. It is not the best of steel, nor is it made right to throw a chip, and the handle is too big and stiff; it’s just the handle to split, not to chop with. But there’s an axe Mr. Paul Rogers made for me that’s made just right to work easy in the wood, and he is the best man to temper an edge-tool I ever knew. My cutting days are about over and I’ll give it to you, and make a proper chopping handle to it, and then we’ll grind it and you’ll have a good axe.
“I’ve not the least doubt you’ll make a first rate chopper, and be real ‘sleighty’ with an axe. This is a heavier tool than I care to use now, but you’ve got the strength, and practice will give you the sleight.”
James, stimulated by finding that he had finally mastered the difficulty, and delighted with the kindly interest manifested by the old gentleman, gave his whole soul to work; and by the time the winter’s wood was cut could chop faster than either of the boys, and could drive the oxen well enough for most purposes.
A variety of circumstances conspired not only thereby to develop the ability of James, but also to prove that he was by no means untouched by the kindness with which he was treated.