ing away to the musical sounds of a hatchet
beating on a vast amount of "whistle-stuff," until mid-day and hunger
arrived in company.

At the signal for noon Jeremy Jagger began his birthday feast. He
perched himself on a stout willow-branch, hanging the basket on a
conveniently growing peg at his right hand, and, by frequent
examination of the store within, was able to solace two or three lads,
less fortunate than himself, who were taking the mid-day rest,
refreshed by plain bread and cheese, seated on a branch, lower down on
the same tree.

"It isn't _every_ day that a fellow eats his birthday dinner in the
woods," he exclaimed, by way of apology for the dainties he tossed
down to them in the shape of sugar-cake and "spice pie." "Aunt Hannah
was pretty liberal with me this morning. I wonder if she knew
anything, for she said: 'I'd find plenty of squirrels to help eat it.'
Where do you live, anyway?" he questioned, after he had fed them.

"We live in Brookline," answered the elder.

"Well, do you know what under the sun we are cutting such bundles of
fagots for to-day?" he slyly questioned, being beyond the hearing of
the ears of his friend, and so safe from censure.

"I asked father this morning," spoke up the younger lad (of not more
than nine years), "and he told me he guessed General Washington was
going to take Boston on the ice, and every soldier was going to take a
bundle of fagots along, so as to keep from sinking if the ice broke
through."

This bit of military news was received with shouts of laughter, that
echoed from tree to tree along the brook, and then the noon-day rest
was over. The wind began to blow in cooler and faster from the sea,
and busy hands were obliged to work fast to keep from stiffening under
the power of the growing frost.

When the new moon hung low in the west and the sun was gone, the
brookside, the cart-path, even the swamp fell back into its accustomed
silence, for the workers, in groups of eight or ten, had from minute
to minute gone homeward, leaving huge piles of fagots near the log
bridge.

Jeremy went early to bed that night. His right arm was weary and his
left arm ached; nevertheless, he went straightway to dreaming that
both arms were dragging his beloved mother forth from Boston.

At midnight his companion of the morning came and stood under his
chamber window, and tapped lightly with a bean-pole against the glass
to awaken him.

Jeremy heard the sound, but in h