Hidden Treasures | Page 8

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 quit.
"Can't we oil or grease it up or do something to make it turn easier, Uncle Joe?" he asked as he straightened up.
"Bah, who ever heard of oiling a grindstone?" answered his uncle, throwing some water on the bearings, which caused a lot of rust to work out at the ends.
"I guess you'd like to go fishing to-day, instead of working?" he observed.
"No, Uncle Joe, I'm willing to work," replied Bob, "but you don't know how hard this old stone turns."
"Oh, I don't, don't I?" said his uncle. "Well, I turned this stone, Bob, before you were born, and your father turned it before me."
"And you never put any oil or grease on it all that time?" inquired Bob.
"Of course not," said his uncle, "only elbow grease. We boys always had enough of that to keep the stone running in those days," he continued with a sarcastic smile.
"Well, there might have been an excuse in those days, Uncle Joe, for using a hand-power grindstone, but there certainly is none in these days, with water power, electricity and gasoline," he added, between breaths, as he began tugging away again at the handle.
"If you wouldn't waste your energy talking nonsense and turn faster, we would get done sooner," said his uncle bearing down harder than ever.
Bob stopped turning and stood up as straight as his aching back would allow him, and looking his uncle square in the eyes, said:
"Suppose you turn a while, Uncle Joe, and I'll hold the axe."
"No, you just keep on turning--you don't know how to grind an axe," replied his uncle; "besides, that's the boy's job."
"Perhaps you could teach me how it's done, while you're turning," said Bob, not offering to continue.
"That's only fair, Joe," said his grandfather, coming up suddenly behind them and overhearing what was said. "The old stone does seem to turn harder than ever these days."
"Well, I'll show you how easy it turns," said his uncle, starting the stone spinning, but looked up quickly a moment later as it suddenly slowed down to a dead stop, for his father, instead of Bob, was holding the axe against it.
"Go on, Joe; don't stop; it's only a boy's job," he laughed, as he bore down so hard on the axe that the stone could not be started.
"Where are you going, Bob?" asked his uncle, as Bob started in the direction of the barn.
"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 replied, and without waiting for any further suggestions started for the woodshed to get his rod and line.
He was soon sitting on the end of the log carriage under the shelter of the saw-mill roof, his line dangling into the water of the forebay, waiting for a bite. He had been seated only a few moments when his attention was attracted by a small automobile bouncing over the deep- rutted road, a few yards to the south of the mill. When it got nearly opposite, one of the rear tires, with a loud report, blew out, and it came to a sudden stop. Two men got out of the car, but after looking up at the sky decided to wait