"Fling your axe into something," said Clam. "That'll bring her up."
The old man presently stepped aside to a young sapling oak, which having outgrown its strength bent its slim altitude in a beautiful parabolic curve athwart the sturdy stems of cedars and yellow pines which lined the path. Anderese stopped there and looked at Elizabeth. She had stopped too, without noticing him, and stood sending an intent, fixed, far-going look into the pretty wilderness of rock and wood on the other side of the way. All three stood silently.
"Will this do to come down, young lady?" inquired Anderese, with his axe on his shoulder. Elizabeth faced about.
"'Twon't grow up to make a good tree — it's slantin' off so among the others." He brought his axe down.
"That?" said Elizabeth, — "that reaching-over one? O no! you mustn't touch that. What is it?"
"It's an oak, miss; it's good wood."
"It's a better tree. No indeed — leave that. Never cut such trees. Won't some of those old things do?"
"Them? — them are cedars, young lady."
"Well, won't they do?"
"They'd fly all over and burn the house up," said Clam.