charge of the nursery and John had watched him at his work evenings and in those days when he was not needed elsewhere, had heard the old fellow muttering to the baby pines as he fussed over them with pride and tenderness.
As the days grew fair and less rain fell he learned of the fear of fire. Beside Helen's house Watch Pine reared itself, a great old tree, five feet through at the butt, rising straight and true for seventy feet before it flung its tattered banners to the air, a dignified veteran, standing above and guarding over that younger generation of its kind. Beneath the branches a crow's nest had been built, and up the trunk was a stout ladder. On dry days some one was on watch there through the hours of daylight, scanning the forest and adjacent country with a glass for the smoke which would herald danger.
But these were high points of information, unrelated, largely meaningless.
It was a few days after his first cars of lumber had rolled out of the siding at Seven Mile that John came upon Sim Burns in the woods. The new supervisor was walking along a fire line, note book in hand, pacing carefully and counting trees, and did not see Taylor until they were close together.
"Hello, Mr. Taylor," he said in his harsh voice, and sniffed. "How are th' logs turnin' out?"
"Well enough," John said.
"Makin' up th' tax rolls," Burns volunteered. "Just lookin' over this piece.
"My goodness, but this property has been let off easy! Taxes on this'll come in handy for roads an' a new court house."
