John and Fred went home, but Uncle Isaac insisted upon Charlie’s staying with him all night. After supper he produced Charlie’s broad-axe, with a good white-oak handle, and nicely ground; he also gave him an excellent whetstone, which he told him came from the Gut of Canso. Charlie had now a favorable opportunity to consult him about a matter that had occupied his thoughts from the moment he found himself in possession of a little money.
“Uncle Isaac,” said he, “mother hasn’t got any crane; all the way she hangs her pot over the fire is by a birch withe, with a chain at the end; and sometimes it burns off above the chain: the other day it broke, and liked to have scalded the baby to death. I want to get her a crane,—hooks and trammels all complete,—and put it in the fireplace before she knows anything of it.”
“The first thing to be considered is, whether you ought to spend your money in this way; if you spend all you earn, you will never have anything.”
“Don’t think that I don’t know the value of money,—misery has taught me that; but what would have become of me if mother had not taken me in? for it was all her doings. When the island is paid for, I shall begin to look out for myself. Will anybody have to send to Boston to get one?”
“Send to Boston! Peter Brock, the blacksmith, can make it.”
“And what will it all cost—hooks and trammels?”
Charlie was delighted to find that it came within his means. He said nothing to Uncle Isaac of the Indian relics, meaning to show them to him when he came on the island, but told him about the paint.
“The Indians used to get it there,” said Uncle Isaac, “to paint their faces red, when they went on the war-path.”
“It isn’t red—it’s yellow.”
“But if you heat it, it will become red.”