He rushed forward, leaving his
companion; and, so intent did he become on reaching the valley with all
possible speed, that he no longer noticed the briers which pierced
him or the underbrush which entangled and made his feet sore. In
a few days he reached the valley, tired, worn, and bleeding from head
to feet.
The laborers who were working in their gardens looked on him with
pity, and several, at the command of a leader, carried him to a house
(for he could no longer walk), where he was cared for and nursed.
His companion, whom he had outrun, took a better and wiser course.
Finding the wood so dense, he bethought himself of making a pathway
as he journeyed. It would take much longer, but the comfort and good to
others who might follow could not be told. Faithfully he labored, cutting
away the branches which impeded his progress, and clearing the underbrush
from the ground; while each day, in the valley beyond, the wounded man
wondered that he came not, and concluded that he must have perished in
the forest.
The days passed into weeks, and yet no sign of his companion. If he
could only rise from his bed, he would go in search of him; but, alas!
he was helpless, lame, and sore in every joint.
At the close of a beautiful autumn day, when the laborers had bound
their sheaves and were going to their homes, a traveler was seen coming
with a firm step from the forest. On his shoulder he carried the axe,
whose polished edge glittered strangely in the rays of the setting
sun.
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