In a town of the north there dwelt three men apart from their fellows. One of these men was a Philosopher, one was a Poet, and one was a Painter. These lived and wrought, while all the folk looked up to them from afar off. There was a halfbreed called Bigfoot Joe who hewed in a lumber camp, so that the folk knew nothing of him.
The Philosopher penned a mystical work on the philosophy of the woods, and he grew known in the world. The Poet wrote stanzas filled with the music of the pines and cedars, and his verse brought high wage. The Painter limned a single hemlock, instinct with the breath of the lonely forest; and it found fame. But, deep in the woods, trees crashed down and the unknown lumberjack lopped off their branches.
Now it so happened that a certain Great Author, having heard of the famous Three, journeyed across the seas to visit them; for he was an unwearied seeker after the truth that is in life.
The Artists, receiving him as a brother, expounded to him the philosophy and rhythm and tonal harmony of Nature; but the Great Author warmed himself in their steam-heated studios and said little.
One day the Artists took the distinguished guest on a visit to the woods. They came to camp in time to lunch with the jacks, and the visitor was seated next Bigfoot Joe. Naturally observant, he noted that the halfbreed, coming from the woods bare-headed, flung an expressive glance at the thick furs of the Philosopher.
During their meal the Painter apologized for the coarse fare—the beans and bread, the creamless coffee; but the halfbreed gorged hugely, and drank his molasses-sweet coffee with gusto. The Poet was disgusted by the table manners of the jacks, for a bread-fight arose amid jests and curses; but the halfbreed deftly caught a crust and devoured it.
Later, the visitors went to the woods and watched the work. Presently they came to Bigfoot Joe; the others would have passed on but the Great Author paused and spoke.
"B'jou," replied the halfbreed, wiping his brow and staring at the stranger.
"Is the work hard?"
"It is my work—I am strong, me! You little man, wear four eyes." His gaze swept in contempt over the visitor. "Dis tree, she's be my brudder; she's be tall, strong like me. 'Bon!' she's say. 'You good lumberjack, you Joe!'" And his axe bit a deep chord of assent from the heart of the pine.