"Didn't you say we could follow those other ones that went up-stream?" asked Eleanor.
"Yes, come on," replied Polly, leading the way for some distance before seeing a sign of a beaver again. Then suddenly, she clutched hold of Eleanor's arm.
"Ah, there's Grandfather, hard at work!"
"Where—which?" cried Eleanor, eagerly.
"The one with a limp and a twisted back!"
The girls had reached a place where the stream widened and here they found a great number of beavers at work. Some cutting, some dragging, others swimming with aspens, willows and alders, and all ordered about by an old crippled beaver.
But despite his twisted back and decided halt in gait, he moved about quicker than the others, showing them where to place, how to saw, when to cut the aspens, and other important details of construction.
"There are a lot of pines, Polly—why doesn't he use them?"
"A beaver doesn't like the smelly, pitchy wood, so they never cut them unless they have to clear a roadway from an aspen grove to the stream of water."
"Then they ought to use all those trees already down. There are lots that have been felled by forest fires, I guess."