You’re an outlaw, lad!
[Hewing vigorously.
A bark-thatched hovel
Is shelter enough both in rain and frost.
[Looks up at the tree.
Now he stands wavering. There; only a kick,
And he topples and measures his length on the ground;—
The thick-swarming undergrowth shudders around him!
[Begins lopping the branches from the trunk; suddenly he listens, and stands motionless with his axe in the air.
There’s some one after me;—Ay, are you that sort,