a little work at noon time," he remarked. "My brain is so far behind the
procession I have to keep putting the gad on it. Give me twenty minutes
of Kirkham and I'll be with you again."

He lay down on his back under a tree with his book in hand and his feet
resting on the tree trunk well above him. Soon he was up and at work
again.

They hewed a flat surface on opposite sides of the log which Samson had
carried and peeled it and raised its lower end on a cross timber. Then
they marked it with a chalk line and sliced it into inch boards with a
whip saw, Abe standing on top of the log and Samson beneath it. Suddenly
the saw stopped. A clear, beautiful voice flung the music of _Sweet
Nightingale_ into the timbered hollow. It halted the workers and set the
woodland ringing. The men stood silent like those hearing a benediction.
The singing ceased. Still they listened for half a moment. It was as if a
spirit had passed and touched them.

"It's Bim--the little vixen!" said Abe tenderly. "She's hiding here in
the woods somewheres."

Abe straightened up and peered through the bushes. The singing ceased.

"I can see yer curls. Come out from behind that tree--you piece o' Scotch
goods!" Abe shouted.

Only silence followed his demand.

"Come on," Abe persisted. "There's a good-looking boy here and I want to
introduce you."