"What's your name?"
"Andy Burke."
"Where do you live?"
"With my mother, Mrs. Burke, a little way down the road."
"I know—the Widder Burke."
"Have you got any work for me?"
"Wait a minute, I'll see."
The deacon brought out an old scythe from the barn, and felt of the edge. There was not much danger in so doing, for it was as dull as a hoe.
"This scythe needs sharpening," he said. "Come and turn the grindstone."
"Well, here's a job, anyhow," thought Andy. "Wonder what he'll give me."