Adventures in Contentment

"You take hold there," 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 transfixed in the pathway half way down to the barn, transfixed with horror. She had recognised 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.