Slowly, accurately, the bright ax sank deeper and deeper into the heart of the tree. The chips increased in scattered profusion. And then, as Betty Jo watched, the swinging ax cut through the last fibre of the tree's strength, and the leafy top swayed gently toward its fall. Almost imperceptibly, at first, it moved while Betty Jo watched breathlessly. Brian swung his ax with increasing vigor, now, while the wood, still remaining, cracked and snapped as the weight of the tree completed the work of the chopper. Faster and faster the towering mass of foliage swung in a wide graceful arc toward the ground. The man with the ax stepped back, his eyes fixed on the falling tree as, with swiftly increasing momentum, its great weight swept swiftly downward to its crashing end.
Betty Jo clapped her hands in triumph; and Brian, turning, saw her standing there. His face was flushed and glistening with perspiration; his broad chest heaved with the deep breathing gained by his exertion, and his eyes shone with the gladness of her presence.
“You are early, to-day!” he cried. “Have you finished? Is it actually completed?”
“All finished,” she returned; and, going to the fallen tree, she put her hands curiously on the trunk, which lay a little higher than her waist. “Help me up,” she commanded.
Brian set his ax against the stump, and, laughingly, lifted her to the seat she desired. Then he stood watching her face as she surveyed the tangled mass of branches.
“It looks so strange from here, doesn't it?” she said.
“Yes; and I confess I don't like to see it that way;” he returned. “I wish they didn't have to be cut. I feel like a murderer,—every one I fall.”
She looked down into his eyes, as she returned: “I know you must. YOU would, of course. But, after all, it has to be, and I don't suppose the tree minds so much, do you?”
“No; I don't suppose it feels it much.” He laughed, and, throwing aside his hat, he ran his fingers through his tumbled hair for all the world like a schoolboy confused by being caught in some sentimental situation which he finds not only embarrassing, but puzzling as well.
“I like you for feeling that way about it, though,” Betty Jo confessed with characteristic frankness. “And I am sure it must be a very good thing for the world that every one is not so intensely practical that they can chop down trees without a pang. And that reminds me: Speaking of the practical, now that the book is finished, what are we going to do with it?”