"Bob," said his uncle one rainy Saturday morning, a week later, "it's
such a bad day we can't do anything outdoors, so we'd better sharpen
up the tools; there's a lot of them that need grinding."

"All right," said Bob, and he got a can of water for the grindstone--
an ancient model, turned by hand.

His uncle gathered up the tools and piled them beside the stone. There
were two double-bitted axes and one pole axe, two brush hooks, three
mowing scythes, a hatchet, a meat cleaver, half a dozen knives, both
long and short--to say nothing of a drawing knife, some chisels and
planes, which were added to the pile as an afterthought.

Bob looked dubiously at the tools as his uncle deposited them near at
hand.

"Are we going to sharpen them all, Uncle Joe?" he inquired, as he took
hold of the handle and set the stone turning.

"Oh, this is only a short job," laughed his uncle, as he picked up a
dull axe and pressed the bit so heavily against the stone that it
stopped.

"Why, what's the matter, Bob--not tired before you get started, are
you?" he laughed.

Bob made no reply. He needed all his strength to turn the stone. After
a few minutes' work against his uncle's weight, he was compelled to