the weight of the tree completed the
work of the chopper. Faster and faster the towering mass of foliage
swung in a wide graceful arc toward the ground. The man with the ax
stepped back, his eyes fixed on the falling tree as, with swiftly
increasing momentum, its great weight swept swiftly downward to its
crashing end.

Betty Jo clapped her hands in triumph; and Brian, turning, saw her
standing there. His face was flushed and glistening with perspiration;
his broad chest heaved with the deep breathing gained by his exertion,
and his eyes shone with the gladness of her presence.

"You are early, to-day!" he cried. "Have you finished? Is it actually
completed?"

"All finished," she returned; and, going to the fallen tree, she put her
hands curiously on the trunk, which lay a little higher than her waist.
"Help me up," she commanded.

Brian set his ax against the stump, and, laughingly, lifted her to the
seat she desired. Then he stood watching her face as she surveyed the
tangled mass of branches.

"It looks so strange from here, doesn't it?" she said.

"Yes; and I confess I don't like to see it that way;" he returned. "I
wish they didn't have to be cut. I feel like a murderer,--every one I
fall."

She looked down into his eyes, as she returned: "I know you must. YOU
would, of course. But, after all, it has to be, and I don't suppose the
tree minds so much, do you?"

"No; I don't suppose it feels it much." He laughed, and, throwing aside
his hat, he ran his fingers through his tumbled hair for all the world
like a schoolboy confused by being caught in some sentimental situation
which he finds not only embarrassing, but puzzling as well.

"I like you for feeling that way about it, though," Betty Jo confessed
with characteristic frankness. "And I am sure it must be a very good
thing for the world that every one is not so intensely practical that
they can chop down trees without a pang. And that reminds me: Speaking
of the practical, now that the book is finished, what are we going to do
with it?"

"Send it to some publisher, I suppose," answered Brian, soberly; "and
then, when they have returned it, send it to some other publisher."

"Have you any particular publisher to whom you will send it first?" she
asked.

"They are all alike, so far as my experience goes," he returned.

"I suppose it would be best if you could take your book East, and
interview the publishers personally, don't you think?"

Brian s