"Well," said his visitor, after examining the work with great interest, "if you can mend my chain as well as that, I'll never carry another one to Drew, and I'll pay you in cash just what I should have to pay him, and be greatly obliged, besides."
"That's just what I've been telling husband," said his wife; "if he would give his mind to it, get a few tools, and begin in a small way, at first, it would give him work in stormy weather, and times when he couldn't do anything else, be a great accommodation to the neighbors, help the place, and be a good thing all around."
"That's it, Mr. Richardson. Your wife's got the right of it, neighbor. The place is settling, people moving in, and taking up land, stumps rotting, and ground getting fit to plough; and work will grow as fast as you can grow to be able to do it."
"I'll mend your chain, neighbor, in the best fashion I can; but I have to work in such a roundabout way, that I must have my time. Have you got the broken link?"
"No; it flew into the snow, and I couldn't find it."
"Then I shall have to cut one of the links, put the next link in, and weld it."
"I hate to have that done, because it will shorten the chain; and it's barely long enough to bind a load of logs and 'fid' now."
"Haven't you any links lying round?"
"Not I, indeed. Iron is as scarce as money with me, as with all the neighbors. Every link of a chain, piece of a horse or ox shoe, old spike, and every scrap of iron, is worked up. There is one thing, though, I remember now, though I don't know as it's of any use to you."