The sun warmly flooded the clearing with its golden light, and, splashing through the openings in the forest foliage, formed pools of yellow beauty amid the dark, rich green of the shadowy undergrowth.

The air was filled with the sense of life, vital and real, and strong and beautiful.
And the young woman, as she stood smiling there, was keenly conscious of it all.

Most of all, perhaps, Betty Jo was conscious of the man, who worked with such vigor at his manly task.
Slowly, accurately, the bright ax sank deeper and deeper into the heart of the tree.

The chips increased in scattered profusion.

And then, as Betty Jo watched, the swinging ax cut through the last fibre of the tree's strength, and the leafy top swayed gently toward its fall.