It was
marvelous (so Nan thought) that her cousin could start the top
log with the great canthook, and guide it as it rolled off the
sled so that it should lie true with timbers that had been piled
before. The strain of his work made him perspire as though it
were midsummer. He thrust the calks on his bootsoles into the
log and the shreds of bark and small chips flew as he stamped to
get a secure footing for his work. Then he heaved like a giant,
his shoulders humping under the blue jersey he wore, and finally
the log turned. Once started, it was soon rolled into place.
Nan ran into the cook shed often to get warm. Her uncle was busy
with the boss of the camp, so she had nobody but the cook and his
helper to speak to for a time. Therefore it was loneliness that
made her start over the half-beaten trail for the spot where the
men were at work, without saying a word to anybody.
None of the teams had come by for some time; but she could hear
faintly the sound of the axes and the calling of the workmen to
each other and their sharp commands to the horses.
She went away from the camp a few hundred yards and then found
that the trail forked. One path went down a little hill, and as
that seemed easy to descend, Nan followed it into a little
hollow.
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