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"Ah! But it's not my business. My work is my business. See my

saw! I call it my Little Guillotine. La, la, la; La, la, la! And

off his head comes!"

The billet fell as he spoke, and he threw it into a basket.

"I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See here

again! Loo, loo, loo; Loo, loo, loo! And off her head comes! Now,

a child. Tickle, tickle; Pickle, pickle! And off its head comes.

All the family!"

Lucie shuddered as he threw two more billets into his basket, but

it was impossible to be there while the wood-sawyer was at work,

and not be in his sight. Thenceforth, to secure his good will,

she always spoke to him first, and often gave him drink-money,

which he readily received.