[Illustration: He struck with his hammer stone]
At last Redtop said, "Enough for to-day! You will do."
Thorn threw down his stones with a shout and ran to his grandfather.
Old Flint sat at work under a big beech tree. At his side there was a little pile of bowlders, and about him there were chips of flint.
"Well," he said, as he looked up at the boy, "how is stone work?"
"It is not so easy as it looks, and it makes my arm hurt," said the boy soberly; "but Redtop said that I would do."
"Um," grunted the old man with an unsmiling face, the while laughing to himself.
He worked on. After a time he said, "The little thing you shoot with, your bow—did you bring it?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Well, I will make a little stone head for the stick."
"Good, grandfather!" said Thorn, clapping his hands.
Flint took a pebble from the pile and struck it with his hammer stone. It did not chip in the right way, so he threw it on the chip pile. He struck another. That was too soft; he threw that away. He tried many pebbles before he found a good one.
"This will do," he said at last. "The chip leaves a slight rounding hollow like the inside of my hand."
Then he began to work. He held the pebble in his left hand and struck it a sharp blow with another pebble. He went on striking, round and round the pebble, taking off a flake or a big chip at every blow. At last the part of the pebble left was too small to work with any more. It was the core; he threw it away.
