“Because I think it is a dangerous tool. I think it is a very dangerous tool indeed.”
“Oh no, mother,” said Phonny, “there is no danger.”
“You might be holding a piece of wood in your hand,” said Mrs. Henry, “and then in trying to chop it with your hatchet, hit your hand instead of the wood. There is great danger when you strike a blow with a sharp instrument.”
“Oh no, mother,” said Phonny. “There is not any danger. I have had my hatchet a long time and I never have cut myself but once.”
“That shows that there is some danger,” said his mother. “Besides I knew a boy who was cutting with a hatchet, and it came down through the board that he was cutting, and struck the boy himself, in the knee, and wounded him very badly.”
“But I shall be very careful,” said Phonny. “I know I shall not cut myself with it.”
“I wish,” said his mother, “that you would let me have the hatchet to carry in the house and keep it till you grow older.”
“Oh no, mother,” said Phonny, “we could not get along at all without the hatchet, unless we had an axe, and that would be more dangerous still. But we will be very careful with it.”
Mrs. Henry did not appear satisfied with these promises, but she did not urge Phonny any longer to give the hatchet to her. She walked along, seeming, however, not at all at her ease. Phonny showed her his stock of boards and blocks, among which last, was one which he said was to be made into a boat. After looking around at all these things, Mrs. Henry and Malleville went away. Phonny and Stuyvesant remained in the shop.