The Brimming Cup

Mr. Welles' curiosity satisfied, he fell back into his old shimmer of

content and walked along, hearing Paul's voice only as one of the

morning sounds of the newly awakened world.

Presently he was summoned out of this day-dream by a tug at his hand.

Paul gave out the word of command, "We turn here, so's to get into the

men's short-cut."

This proved to be a hard-trodden path, lying like a loosely thrown-down

string, over the hill pasture-land which cut Ashley village off from

Crittenden's mill. It was to get around this rough tract that the road

had to make so long a detour.

"Oh, I see," said Mr. Welles. "I'd been thinking that it must bother

them a lot to come the two miles along the road from the village."

"Sure," said Paul. "Only the ones that have got Fords come that way.

This is ever so much shorter. Those that step along fast can make it

easy in twelve or fifteen minutes. There they come now, the first of

them." He nodded backward along the path where a distant dark line of

men came treading swiftly and steadily forward, tin pails glistening in

their hands.

"Some of those in that first bunch are really choppers by rights," Paul

diagnosed them with a practised eye, "but of course nobody does much

chopping come warmer weather. But Father never lays off any men unless

they want to be. He fixes some jobs for them in the lumber-yard or in

the mill, so they live here all the year around, same's the regular

hands."

The two stood still now, watching the men as their long, powerful

strides brought them rapidly nearer. Back of them the sun rose up

splendid in the sparkling, dustless mountain air. The pasture grass on

either side of the sinuous path lay shining in the dew. Before them the

path led through a grove of slim, white birches, tremulous in a pale

cloud of light green.

"Well, they've got a pretty good way to get to their work, all right,"

commented Mr. Welles.

"Yep, pretty good," agreed Paul. "It's got tramped down so it's quite

smooth."

A detachment of the file of tall, strongly built, roughly dressed men

had now reached them, and with friendly, careless nods and greetings to

Paul, they swung by, smoking, whistling, calling out random remarks and

jokes back and forth along the line.

"Hello, Frank. Hello, Mike. Hello, Harry. Hello, Jom-bastiste. Hello,

Jim." Paul made answer to their repeated, familiar, "Hello, Paul."