had cost the Lumber Company ten thousand dollars to break.

There would be great arguments on shore, among the villagers as well as among
the experts, as to the particular log which might be a key to the position.
The boss would study the problem from various standpoints, and the drivers
themselves would pass from heated discussion into long consultations.

"They're paid by the day," Old Kennebec would philosophize to the doctor; "an'
when they're consultin' they don't hev to be doggin', which is a turrible
sight harder work."

Rose had created a small sensation, on one occasion, by pointing out to the
under boss the key-log in a jam. She was past mistress of the pretty game of
jackstraws, much in vogue at that time. The delicate little lengths of
polished wood or bone were shaken together and emptied on the table. Each
jackstraw had one of its ends fashioned in the shape of some sort of
implement,--a rake, hoe, spade, fork, or mallet. All the pieces were
intertwined by the shaking process, and they lay as they fell, in a hopeless
tangle. The task consisted in taking a tiny pick-pole, scarcely bigger than a
match, and with the bit of curved wire on the end lifting off the jackstraws
one by one without stirring the pile or making it tremble. When this occurred,
you gave place to your opponent, who relinquished his turn to you when ill
fortune descended upon him, the game, which was a kind of river-driving and
jam-picking in miniature, being decided by the number of pieces captured and
their value. No wonder that the under boss asked Rose's advice as to the
key-log. She had a fairy's hand, and her cunning at deciding the pieces to be
moved, and her skill at extricating and lifting them from the heap, were
looked upon in Edgewood as little less than supernatural. It was a favorite
pastime; and although a man's hand is ill adapted to it, being over-large and
heavy, the game has obvious advantages for a lover in bringing his head very