As the dead maple trembled more and more violently, and at last swayed to
and fro in the breathless air, Amy cried, "Webb! Webb! come away!"

She had hardly spoken when, with a slow and stately motion, the lofty
head bowed; there was a rush through the air, an echoing crash upon the
rocks. She sprang forward with a slight cry, but Webb, leaning his axe on
the prostrate bole, looked smilingly at her, and said, "Why, Amy, there
is no more danger in this work than in cutting a stalk of corn, if one
knows how."

"There appears to be more," she replied. "I never saw a large tree cut
down before, but have certainly read of people being crushed. Does it
often happen?"

"No, indeed."

"By the way, Amy," said Leonard, "the wood-chopper that you visited with
me is doing so well that we shall give him work on the farm this summer.
There was a little wheat in all that chaff of a man, and it's beginning
to grow. But the wife is a case. He says he would like to work where he
can see you occasionally."

"I have been there twice with Webb since, and shall go oftener when the
roads are better," she replied, simply.

"That's right, Amy; follow up a thing," said Mr. Clifford. "It's better
to _help_ one family than to try to help a dozen. That was a good
clean cut, Webb," he added, examining the stump. "I dislike to see a tree
haggled down."