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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
45
"Just
what
I
have
wanted,"
I
said
to
myself.
I
selected
a
few
of
the
best
pieces
and
so
eager
was
I
to
try
them
that
I
got
out
my
axe-helve
before
breakfast
and
sat
scratching
away
when
Harriet
came
down.
Nothing
equals
a
bit
of
broken
glass
for
putting
on
the
final
perfect
touch
to
a
work
of
art
like
an
axe-helve.
Nothing
will
so
beautifully
and
delicately
trim
out
the
curves
of
the
throat
or
give
a
smoother
turn
to
the
waist.
So
with
care
and
an
indescribable
affection,
I
added
the
final
touches,
trimming
the
helve
until
it
exactly
fitted
my
hand.
Often
and
often
I
tried
it
in
pantomime,
swinging
nobly
in
the
centre
of
the
sitting-room
(avoiding
the
lamp),
attentive
to
the
feel
of
my
hand
as
it
ran
along
the
helve.
I
rubbed
it
down
with
fine
sandpaper
until
it
fairly
shone
with
whiteness.
Then
I
borrowed
a
red
flannel
cloth
of
Harriet
and
having
added
a
few
drops--not
too
much--of
boiled
oil,
I
rubbed
the
helve
for
all
I
was
worth.
This
I
continued
for
upward
of
an
hour.
At
that
time
the
axe-helve
had
taken
on
a
yellowish
shade,
very
clear
and
beautiful.
I
do
not
think
I
could
have
been
prouder
if
I
had
carved
a
statue
or
built
a
parthenon.
I
was
consumed
with
vanity;
but
I
set
the
new
helve
in
the
corner
with
the
appearance
of
utter
unconcern.
"There,"
I
remarked,
"it's
finished."
I
watched
Harriet
out
of
the
corner
of
my
eye:
she
made
as
if
to
speak
and
then
held
silent.
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