The men at work had breakfast at Hall's in great beauty of weather. Afterward Curtin went with them along the proposed line of road. It proved a cheerful group, doing basic work well. The wine of the air and the lift of the earth and the beams of the sun helped amain. Axes rang, pick and shovel sounded. There was a center of work and there were outlying explorations. One hallooed to another. Morris was a master whistler, and you heard him like a redbird. Dave Hall had an interminable mountain ballad which he chanted as he worked. The buzz of the whole might be caught a long way over the mountain slope. Where they worked would be a great driveway for holiday folk. Young and old would pass that way, drinking the great views and the mountain air, pierced by beauty and largeness. Young and old, man and woman, a many and a many, through years heaped like sand! "I like public work!" said Randall. Drew answered: "I like it, too! If a scholar wants to help all and a teacher wants to help all, then going to school and teaching are public works. But I'm coming back to help hold the forests for themselves and the people." The morning went by quickly. At noon they had dinner by Indian Creek, that rushed and leaped. Three young Halls brought their food in baskets. It was spread under hemlocks, and they ate as it were in Arden. Dinner over, for half an hour they smoked and rested, stretched out beneath the trees. "Tell us a story, Cooper!" "I haven't one. Call Dave Hall over." Dave came, tall and lank and brown as ale. "Sit under that tree, Dave, and tell us a story." "I kin sing you about John Horn and Betsy at the dance." "No. Tell us a story. Tell us about the mountain woman you began about the other day when the storm came up." "Miss Ellice?" "Yes, Miss Ellice."