"I'm going to the wagon shed, Uncle Joe, to get some axle grease and
see if we can't make the stone turn easier."

The metal plates covering the bearings were removed, and the caked
rust pried out from between the rollers, for the stone had been
mounted on small cast-iron wheels or rollers, but the wheels had been
allowed to become rusted and finally had ceased to revolve.

When the rust had all been cleaned out and the wheels removed and
cleaned, they were well greased and replaced.

"Now try it, Bob," said his grandfather, smiling; "it's a poor rain
that doesn't bring some good."

The stone now spun around easily in the hands of the willing boy, and
by noon all the tools had been ground, including some additional ones
that his grandfather, seeing the work going so fast, had added to the
pile. When all were finished, Bob wiped them off with a greasy rag,
while his grandfather stood watching him keenly.

"You'll make a good farmer some day, Bob," he said a little later,
"for I see you use your head as well as your muscle. All my life I've
been grinding farm tools, but I never once greased them to keep them
from getting rusty, and they were mostly rusty, too, when I wanted to
use them," he added with a dry smile.

"How'd you like to have the afternoon off, Bob, to fish?" asked his
uncle after dinner, looking at the rain.

"Fine, Uncle Joe! Perhaps I could catch a mess for supper," the boy