woodchopper could offer them. But they were so hungry that, as Freddie
said afterward, it tasted better than chicken and ice-cream.

"Haven't you got any little girl?" asked Flossie after a while.

"No, I haven't a chick or a child, I'm sorry to say."

"My father would give you a chicken if you wanted it," said Freddie. "And
some days _we_ could come and stay with you."

"That last part would be all right," said the old man with a smile; "but I
haven't any place to keep a chicken. It would get lonesome, I'm afraid,
while I'm off in the forest chopping wood. But I thank you just the same."

"Didn't you ever have any children?" asked Flossie, taking a second glass
of milk which the kindly old man gave her.

"Never a one. Though when I was a boy I lived in a place where there were
two children, I think. But it's all kind of hazy."

"Where was that?" asked Freddie, brushing up the last of the bread crumbs
from his plate.

"I don't remember much about my folks. Most of my life has been spent
working on farmers' land, until I got so old I could not plow or cut hay.
Then the man who owns this forest said I might come here and chop
firewood, and I did. I built this cabin myself, and I've lived all alone
in it for many years."

This was so, for Jack had been in the woods from the time when Bert and