CHAPTER XIII.

FAREWELL TO THE FENCE.

When the first frosts of autumn come the black ash swales are dry, and
there is more life in them than in midsummer. Hickory trees grow in
the swales, and the squirrels are very busy with the ripened nuts. The
ruffed grouse, with broods well grown, find covert in the tops of
fallen trees, or strut along decaying logs. There are certain berries
which grow in the swales, and these have ripened and are sought by many
birds. The leaves are turning slowly to soft colors. There is none of
the blaze and glory of the ridges where the hard maples and beeches
are, but there is a general brownness and dryness and vigor of scene.
It is good. The fence was nearly done, and the money for its building
was almost owned. The rails stretched away in a long line through the
narrow lane hewed through the wood, the tree-tops meeting overhead, and
a new highway was built for the squirrels, who made famous use of the
fence in their many journeys. The woodpeckers patronized it much, and
tested every rail for food, but only in a merely incidental way, for
each woodpecker knew that every rail was green and tough, and sound and
tenantless as yet. There was a general chirp and twitter and pleasant
call, for all the young life of the year was out of nest and hole and
hollow, and now entering upon life in earnest. It was a season for
buoyant work.

The great maul, firm and heavy still, showed an indentation round its
middle, where tens of thousands of impacts against the iron wedges had
worn their way, and even the heads of the wedges themselves were