faster and faster, till they encountered some new obstacle,
when they heaped themselves together again, like puppets of Fate,
and were beaten by the waves into another helpless surrender.

With the breaking of the jam, one dead monarch of the forest
leaped into the air as if it had been shot from a cannon's mouth,
and lodged between two jutting peaks of rock high on the river bank.
Presently another log was dashed against it, but rolled off and hurried
down the stream; then another, and still another; but no force seemed
enough to drive the giant from its intrenched position.

"Hurry on down to the next jam, Raish, and let it alone,"
cried the men. "Mebbe it'll git washed off in the night, and anyhow
you can't budge it with no kind of a tool we've got here."

Then from the shore came a boy's voice calling, "There's a baby
up to your house!" And the men repeated in stentorian tones,
"Baby up to your house, Raish! Leggo the log; you're wanted!"

"Boy or girl?" shouted the young father.

"Girl!" came back the answer above the roar of the river.

Whereupon Raish Dunnell steadied himself with his pick
and taking a hatchet from his belt, cut a rude letter "L"
on the side of the stranded log.

"L's for Lucindy," he laughed. "Now you log if you git's fur as Saco,
drop in to my wife's folks and tell 'em the baby's name."