"A farmer," I said to myself with exultation, "has only to wait long enough and all the world comes his way." I had just begun to grease my farm wagon and was experiencing some difficulty in lifting and steadying the heavy rear axle while I took off the wheel. I kept busily at work, pretending (such is the perversity of the human mind) that I did not see Mr. Starkweather. He stood for a moment watching me; then he said: "Good morning, sir." I looked up and said: "Oh, good morning!" "Nice little farm you have here." "It's enough for me," I replied. I did not especially like the "little." One is human. Then I had an absurd inspiration: he stood there so trim and jaunty and prosperous. So rich! I had a good look at him. He was dressed in a woolen jacket coat, knee-trousers and leggings; on his head he wore a jaunty, cocky little Scotch cap; a man, I should judge, about fifty years old, well-fed and hearty in appearance, with grayish hair and a good-humored eye. I acted on my inspiration: "You've arrived," I said, "at the psychological moment." "How's that?" "Take hold here and help me lift this axle and steady it. I'm having a hard time of it." The look of astonishment in his countenance was beautiful to see. For a moment failure stared me in the face. His expression said with emphasis: "Perhaps you don't know who I am." But I looked at him with the greatest good feeling and my expression said, or I meant it to say: "To be sure I don't: and what difference does it make, anyway!" "You take hold here," I said, without waiting for him to catch his breath, "and I'll get hold here. Together we can easily get the wheel off." Without a word he set his cane against the barn and bent his back; up came the axle and I propped it with a board. "Now," I said, "you hang on there and steady it while I get the wheel off"--though, indeed, it didn't really need much steadying. As I straightened up, whom should I see but Harriet standing stock still in the pathway half way down to the barn, transfixed with horror. She had recognized John Starkweather and had heard at least part of what I said to him, and the vision of that important man bending his back to help lift the axle of my old wagon was too terrible! She caught my eye and pointed and mouthed. When I smiled and nodded, John Starkweather straightened up and looked around. "Don't, on your life," I warned, "let go of that axle." He held on and Harriet turned and retreated ingloriously. John Starkweather's face was a study! "Did you ever grease a wagon?" I asked him genially. "Never," he said. "There's more of an art in it than you think," I said, and, as I worked, I talked to him of the lore of axle-grease and showed him exactly how to put it on--neither too much nor too little, and so that it would distribute itself evenly when the wheel was replaced. "There's a right way of doing everything," I observed.