"What do you want?"
"Some o' the best there is, I guess," said Clam.
"Hard wood is the best, young lady."
"What's that?"
"Oak — maple — hickory — and there's ash, and birch — 'tain't very good."
Elizabeth sighed, and led the way on again, while the old negro shouldered his axe and followed with Clam; probably sighing on his own part, if habitual gentleness of spirit did not prevent. Nobody ever knew Clam do such a thing.
"Look at her!" muttered the damsel; — "going with her head down, — when'll she see a tree? Ain't we on a march! Miss 'Lizabeth! — the tree won't walk home after it's cut."
"What?" said her mistress.
"How'll it get there?"
"What?"