"Father," said Clem, at length, clambering into his parent's lap, "what you going to do with the axe now?"
"I'm going," said he, putting his arm fondly around the little questioner, "to try and make it just hard enough to cut, and not break or turn."
"How will you know, father, when you've got just enough out?"
"Guess at it. I can't do any better. If I only had a watch or clock, I'd let it cool two minutes, then four, and see what that would do. Do you understand, my little man?"
"I don't know, father; ain't it just like when mother takes a candle, makes a mark on it with her knitting needle, and says, 'When the candle burns down to that mark, 'twill be half an hour, and then you'll have to go to bed, Clem?'"
"Something like it; but I want something that will tell the minutes."
"Then it would be two minutes hard, father," cried Clem, who, with both arms around his parent's neck, had almost got into his mouth. "How funny! Shall I go borrow Mr. Montague's watch?"
"Not now, dear."
Taking the boy by the hand, and the axe in the other hand, he walked thoughtfully towards the shop.
After heating to a cherry red, he laid it on the forge to cool, began to count, and continued counting till the axe was cool. He then chalked down the number on his bellows.