Berry had watched her father in his work with tools, had seen him oil hinges that would not move, or loosen nuts that held some wheel or bar too tightly, and she had been taught to do many things that most little girls never learn; so now she examined the wheel with so serious a face that Mrs. Bragg looked at her in amazement.
“If I had a screw-driver and an oil-can I believe I could fix it,” she declared.
“Fer the land’s sake!” muttered Mrs. Bragg. “We never saw a screw-driver, but there’s a broken knife that’ll twist a screw mighty fine.”
“Perhaps that would do,” Berry responded gravely, and Mollie ran off to find the broken knife, while Berry peered under the wheel-bench to make sure that she understood the simple movement of the wheel.
Mrs. Bragg watched Berry as the little girl carefully loosened and adjusted the axle on which the wheel turned, until it would move, but it did not move smoothly.
“It needs a drop of oil!” Berry announced.
But the Bragg cabin could furnish nothing better than a bit of melted tallow, and Mrs. Bragg declared that far superior to oil, and hastened to prepare it, and at last, to the amazement and delight of Mrs. Bragg and Mollie, and to Berry’s great satisfaction, the big wheel revolved as swiftly as ever.
“I reckon you know ter do sich things, Berry, on account of being a Yankee girl,” Mrs. Bragg declared admiringly. “Steve says folks up North prides theirselves on workin’, an’ on inventin’ ways ter make work. I declar’ to it, I’ll have ter rest a spell,” and Mrs. Bragg sank down on a wooden bench near the door.
“Maw, tell Berry that story you tole me ’bout the selfish mouse,” said Mollie. “Maw kin tell gran’ stories, Berry,” the little girl continued eagerly. “W’en we wus off up in the mountains she used ter tell a new one mos’ every night.”
Berry’s face brightened at the prospect of a story, and Mrs. Bragg said she would tell it as nearly as she could remember it.