Bob made no reply. He took his pails and lantern and started for the barn. His hands were stiff and blistered from using the fork all day, and it was with difficulty that he finished his task in the ill- smelling and badly ventilated barn. His back ached, too, as he carried the pails to the house. "Why were you so long?" asked his uncle impatiently, as Bob entered. "Your grandmother wouldn't let us eat till you came in, so I fed the calves and pigs for you while we were waiting." "At home, Uncle Joe," replied Bob, as they seated themselves at the table, "we always milk at five o'clock and don't let anything else interfere with it. Father says a cow should be milked early and regularly." "Well, Bob, your father's not a farmer, and if he wants you to quit in the middle of the afternoon to milk your cow, you can do so, but we'll milk ours after the day's work's done," was the stern answer. "Probably that's the reason Gurney gives nearly as much milk as any three of yours," replied Bob quietly, to which remark his uncle made no reply. III A RAINY DAY "Bob," said his uncle one rainy Saturday morning, a week later, "it's such a bad day we can't do anything outdoors, so we'd better sharpen up the tools; there's a lot of them that need grinding." "All right," said Bob, and he got a can of water for the grindstone-- an ancient model, turned by hand. His uncle gathered up the tools and piled them beside the stone. There were two double-bitted axes and one pole axe, two brush hooks, three mowing scythes, a hatchet, a meat cleaver, half a dozen knives, both long and short--to say nothing of a drawing knife, some chisels and planes, which were added to the pile as an afterthought. Bob looked dubiously at the tools as his uncle deposited them near at hand. "Are we going to sharpen them all, Uncle Joe?" he inquired, as he took hold of the handle and set the stone turning. "Oh, this is only a short job," laughed his uncle, as he picked up a dull axe and pressed the bit so heavily against the stone that it stopped. "Why, what's the matter, Bob--not tired before you get started, are you?" he laughed. Bob made no reply. He needed all his strength to turn the stone. After a few minutes' work against his uncle's weight, he was compelled to quit. "Can't we oil or grease it up or do something to make it turn easier, Uncle Joe?" he asked as he straightened up. "Bah, who ever heard of oiling a grindstone?" answered his uncle, throwing some water on the bearings, which caused a lot of rust to work out at the ends. "I guess you'd like to go fishing to-day, instead of working?" he observed. "No, Uncle Joe, I'm willing to work," replied Bob, "but you don't know how hard this old stone turns." "Oh, I don't, don't I?" said his uncle. "Well, I turned this stone, Bob, before you were born, and your father turned it before me." "And you never put any oil or grease on it all that time?" inquired Bob.