And Goba showed Tig some of the things the other men were making. Two of them were at work upon arrow-heads, chipping them very slowly and carefully; and while Tig was watching, one man made an unlucky stroke and broke his arrow-head in two. So he spoiled all his day’s work at one blow, and there was nothing for it but to take another flake and begin all over again. But the other man took a bone tool like a chisel, and pressed it along the edge of his arrow-head all the way along, flaking off tiny chips and making the arrow-head very sharp.
Another man was making a stone axe. He had shaped it out by hammering it with stones of different shapes and sizes, and was then busily grinding the cutting edge by rubbing the axe-head backward and forward, backward and forward all the time, upon a large grooved slab of hard sandstone.
“With such as this we can cut,” said Goba; “we can fell trees and hew them in pieces. There is nothing like my axes for cutting. Now see, I will show thee how the men of the old time made their axes—they that were in the land before our fathers came hither;” and Goba picked up a heavy lump of flint stone that had been roughly chipped into the shape of an axe-head. “Even such as this were the axes of those rude folk! Ho! ho! right enough to brain a wolf withal, but good for naught when it comes to felling of trees or hewing of timber. We must have our axes well ground to an edge for felling timber, little son.”
“Why doesn’t my father make spears for himself?” Tig asked.
“Thy father is a hunter, boy,” said Goba. “Look at me! Can I chase the deer? Nay! Too heavy and slow am I for hunting. Set thy father’s leg against my leg and his arm against my arm: then thou wilt see.
“But set thy father’s hand against my hand, his eye against my eye! He can spy the deer when they are many paces distant among the fern, where I should see naught. But can he see, as I can see, into the heart of the stone, and can he handle it aright to shape an arrow or an axe? Nay, he cannot. Now I was born to love the good stones, and these my sons follow after me. It is not born in thee to handle stones: thou wilt grow up to be a hunter, like thy father.”
“I should like to be a spearmaker, and make spears and arrows like these of yours,” said Tig.
“Then thou must come and learn our craft,” said the old man, “and that is a long matter. Start young, that’s the only way. The hand must learn, and the eye must learn, and many a likely piece of stuff be spoiled before a craftsman is made. But thou wilt not come. Thy father likes better for thee to learn how to hunt deer and slay wolves, with the good stones that I and my sons will make for thee. It is not born in thee to follow our craft, little son.”
Inside his hut Goba had his store of all kinds of weapons made of stone—axes and spears and arrow-heads and daggers; he also had knives and chisels, and scrapers to scrape hides with, and little saws, and many other such things all of flint stone.