“You will though,” grinned George.
“Oh, I know that, but I wish something would happen to keep you quiet.”
Such a thing was destined to come about before Fred dreamed it would and it was also something he never would have thought of, possibly.
“I need some wood for this fire,” remarked Grant, who was busied with preparations for dinner. The sun was fast sinking in the west and the light was commencing to fade. A lone kingfisher winged his way across the lake returning to his home, a hole dug in some bank overlooking the water. All was quiet and peaceful.
“I need some wood for this fire,” Grant repeated, for no one had paid any attention to his former statement of this fact.
“You hear that, Pop?” inquired Fred. “Grant needs some wood.”
“Yes, I heard him,” replied George. “What’s the matter with you; your legs haven’t turned to stone, have they? Can’t you get it?”
“I can, but I have to wash the dishes to-night. It seems to me that that’s just about enough for me to do.”
“All right,” sighed George, “I’ll get it. It strikes me, though, that I do about all the work around here that there is to be done.”
“Yes, it’s too bad about you,” jeered Fred. “Take the ax and get out of here.”