As all the trees were fine large ones, which his fat her had been intending to cut and sell to the sawmill, as soon as it should be built nearby, he was very angry over the destruction his infant son had caused. "We'll have to do something with that youngster," he said to the child’s mother. "Unless we can manage to keep him out of further mischief in another two or three weeks there won‘t be a standing tree left in all Maine," and then remembering the disappearance of his hams and bacon the day before, he added, "No, nor a piece of smoked meat, either."

"If we only had a cradle for him," his mother suggested, "then we could tie him in and rock him when he gets restless. Perhaps that would keep him quiet."

"A cradle, eh!" and Paul‘s father roared with laughter at the very thought. "A cradle! Where could we ever get a cradle for a child that has outgrown a house?"

"Well, I’ve been thinking about a cradle for him," retorted the mother, "and it seems to me that perhaps you could build him something like a boat. Then we could tie him in it and anchor it out in the water in a safe place, and as long as he is there we needn‘t worry about his getting into any more mischief"

"Not a bad idea, at all!" her husband exclaimed, really very much pleased with the suggestion. So he called in all of his neighbours to help him cut the timbers and haul them from the forest to the biggest shipyard in Eastport. There, all the shipbuilders and carpenters along the coast worked as hard and as fast as ever they could at building the cradle, and before very long the great log affair was launched from the ways and anchored out in the sea. Everyone was very glad when the task was finished, for all were fearful that some night Paul might get an even worse attack than the one he had suffered before and roll about until he destroyed everything in that part of the country.