“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.

“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?”

“The tree, Miss Lizzie —­ when Anderese has cut it.”

“Can’t he carry some home?”

“He’ll be a good while about it —­ if he takes one stick at a time —­ and we ain’t nigh home, neither.”

Elizabeth came to a stand, and finally turned in another direction, homewards.  But she broke from the path then, and took up the quest in earnest, leading her panting followers over rocks and moss-beds and fallen cedars and tangled vines and undergrowth, which in many places hindered their way.  She found trees enough at last, and near enough home; but both she and her companions had had tree-hunting to their satisfaction.  Elizabeth commissioned Anderese to find fuel in another way; and herself in some disgust at her new charge, returned to her rock and her bible.  She tried to go through with the third chapter of Matthew; and her eye did go over it, though often swimming in tears.  But that was the end of her studies at that time.  Sorrow claimed the rest of the day for its own, and held the whole ground.  Her household and its perplexities —­ her bible and its teachings —­ her ignorance and her necessities, —­ faded away from view; and instead thereof rose up the lost father, the lost home, and the lost friend yet dearer than all.

“What’s become of Miss Haye?” whispered Mrs. Nettley late in the evening.

“Don’ know,” answered Clam.  “Melted away —­ all that can melt, and shaken down —­ all that can shake, of her.  That ain’t all, so I s’pose there’s somethin’ left.”