Elizabeth rose to her feet.

“I suppose I can find a tree in a minute that he can cut without doing any harm. —­ Bring me a parasol, Clam, —­ and come along with me.”

Clam and the parasol came out at one door, and Anderese and his axe at another, as Elizabeth slowly paced towards the house.  The three joined company.  Anderese was an old grey-haired negro, many years younger however than his sister.  Elizabeth asked him, “Which way?”

“Which way the young lady pleases.”

“I don’t please about it,” said Elizabeth, —­ “I don’t know anything about it —­ lead to the nearest place —­ where a tree can be soonest found.”

The old man shouldered his axe and went before, presently entering a little wood path; of which many struck off into the leafy wilderness which bordered the house.  Leaves overhead, rock and moss under foot; a winding, jagged, up and down, stony, and soft green way, sometimes the one, sometimes the other.  Elizabeth’s bible was still in her hand, her finger still kept it open at the second chapter of Matthew; she went musingly along over grey lichens and sunny green beds of moss, thinking of many things.  How she was wandering in Winthrop’s old haunts, where the trees had once upon a time been cut by him, she now to order the cutting of the fellow trees.  Strange it was!  How she was desolate and alone, nobody but herself there to do it; her father gone; and she without another protector or friend to care for the trees or her either.  There were times when the weight of pain, like the pressure of the atmosphere, seemed so equally distributed that it was distinctly felt nowhere, —­ or else so mighty that the nerves of feeling were benumbed.  Elizabeth wandered along in a kind of maze, half wondering half indignant at herself that she could walk and think at all.  She did not execute much thinking, to do her justice; she passed through the sweet broken sunlight and still shadows, among the rough trunks of the cedars, as if it had been the scenery of dreamland.  On every hand were up-shooting young pines, struggling oaks that were caught in thickets of cedar, and ashes and elms that were humbly asking leave to spread and see the light and reach their heads up to freedom and free air.  They asked in vain.  Elizabeth was only conscious of the struggling hopes and wishes that seemed crushed for ever, her own.

“She don’t see nothin’,” whispered Clam to Anderese, whom she had joined in front.  “She’s lookin’ into vacancy.  If you don’t stop, our axe and parasol ’ll walk all round the place, and one ’ll do as much work as the other.  I can’t put up my awning till you cut down something to let the sun in.”

The old man glanced back over his shoulder at his young lady.

“What be I goin’ to do?” he whispered, with a sidelong glance at Clam.

“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.