“Here’s a lumber yard; let us go in,” said Fil’s father.
“That man on top of that huge, uplifted log will topple off, and that man underneath will get his eyes filled with sawdust,” I exclaimed.
“That’s our way of sawing lumber,” explained Fil’s father. “We lift up one end of the log. One man gets on top and the other man below; and between them they pull up and down the heavy saw, until half of the log all feathers out into many boards. Then they raise the other end, and the men saw down to meet those first cuts, while board after board falls down.”
“Don’t you have round saws of steel, driven by machinery?” I asked.
“Not always,” said Fil’s father. “The wages here are so low that we can afford to hire men to do handwork. This gives many men work, and keeps them from being idle and discontented.”
“But here is one very round log which they are sawing across grain, into round wheels; and they are boring one hole into the center,” I exclaimed.
“They really are wheels for buffalo carts. Don’t you remember your ride the other day?” asked Fil.
I did remember the heavy, creaking wheel, made of one solid piece of wood.
“They never need an iron rim,” added Fil’s father; “and so are not as heavy as they look.”
“Why, here’s a low sleigh, being made out of bamboo poles, runners and boards. Do you have winter here after all?” I asked.