"Anybody call me?" queried the Hoe, from the corner where he had been asleep while all this conversation was going on.
Then they all burst out laughing, and peace was restored.
"They say the Fence is worn out," put in the Sickle.
"I should think it would be," replied the Rake. "It's been running all around this place night and day without ever stopping for the last twenty years."
"How many miles is that?" queried the Wagon.
"Well, once around is half a mile, but if it has gone around every night and every day for twenty years," said the Grindstone, "that's one mile every twenty-four hours—365 miles a year—3,650 miles in ten years, and 7,300 miles in twenty years. Quite a record, eh?"
"That's a good way for a Picket-fence to go," said the Wheelbarrow. "It would kill me to go half that distance."
"Well, if you live until you do go half that distance," put in the Hose, "you'll never die."
"Ho! ho!" jeered the Barrow.