The Ketchum keystone. [volume] (Ketchum, Idaho) 1885-1899, 1888-06-09
pick out the very smallest and most

1
tender cord-sticks.
That was q great mistake on Mr.,
Mouser's part. He should have tackled
difficult ones first, on the simple but
fruitful theory that custom would have
sweetened his toll with the balm o1
greater ease.
+ NV! how the saw rented, and the abb
breviated sticks tumbled to the ground!
Still, Lisbeth, who was peeping with
laughter-brimming eyes, noticed that
at the third cord-stick work seemed to
slacken just little; but seven were
finished, and Mr.. Mouser came in de-
claring he felt glorious.
The second day Mr.. Mouser remain
ed at table trifle longer. Four cord
sticks in broken lengths licked the
dust, however.
Third day-Mr. Mouser took time to
glance over the daily news after din
ner. Record, three cord-sticks.
'sLisbeth," said he, II think I've been
cheated in that sawjack. It's not put
together on as practical a plan as / was
led to believe. It wiggles."
Fourth day-Mr. Mouser toyed over
his dinner extensively. He smoked his
pipe and read the paper. He glanced
over his monthly magazine until dark,
and then started up, exclaiming:
Mercy! how short the days are"
Mrs. Mouser enjoyed the situation in
tensely, but never, said a word.
Fifth day-Mr Mouser rose with a
sense of injustice resting upon him.
ALI day he was haunted by the out
rageous fate that made him the owner
of sawingjack.
''My dear, we require more wood
than usual to-day and tomorrow, wash
ing and ironing days, you know" said
Mrs. Mouser, as soon as he got home.
81 never saw anything like the way
you women manage to consume fuel!'
and Mr.. Mouser grabbed his hat and
strobe angrily toward the wood-pile.
A few sticks fell before the savage
manipulation of the saw, while Mr..
Mouser's snarfing kept excellent time
to the wild motions of the sawyer.
''Confound this bnsiness!' he NUT
tered, kicking at the harmless jack
not as hard rs he wanted to kick, for
fear his wife should see him, and, wo-
manlike, cry, 81 told you so" and add
insult to injury by blabbing to those
busybodies, his friends, who kept ask
ing him how he was getting along saw
ing wood. He did wish folks would
mind their own business.
With crash he sent the saw flying
over the woodpile. This was too much.
His wife was brute to expect him to
work like slave during the few mo-
ments he could call his own free from
business drudgery. But if he gave up
he would never hear the last of it. Oh,
if he could only get rid of that saw
jack.
A long time he pondered; at last a
smile of JOY Illuminated his face. That
night, after his wife had retired, Mr..
Mouser slipped out and carried that
hated green object to the front gate.
Presto! in the morning the corpus de-
licti would be gone. The highway was
full of robbers, who would steal any
thing and everything.
He would make big fuss about the
loss, but take good care not to buy a
second sawjack. And withouton how
could he saw the family fuel? His
wife shouldn't get the laugh on him!
He slept the sleep of the just until
about 4 o'clock in the morning. 1t
was still dark, but the anxiety to as
sure himself of the loss of his trouble
caused him to sneak out and reconnoi-
tire. The sawjack was still there. Mr..
Mouser whispered-not a prayer, ooh,
well, there is time enough still between
this hour and daylight for theft to be
he muttered. 1t was the
voice of Mrs. Mouser that awakened
him in time for breakfast. He glanced
out of the window the first thing. Oh,
how brightly the sun shone, and that
cleaned up at him in all its
verdant beauty. No robber hand had
carried it away. A fearful sigh escap-
ed the Mouser bosom.
''You must saw some wood for me
before you go, DEAR" said his wife.
'What, more wood!"
"Yes, dear; recollect you only sawed
one stick last evening"" rejoined Mrs.
meekly, but a wicked CLEAN
of mischief played about her eyes and
mouth.
Mr.. Mouser ignored her reply, and
FASTENED to toy with his pretty tools
with vigor born of awful fury. A
great swear word desired to be born,
but his lips were compressed, while
way down in his soul voice groaned
That sawingjack must go!
Where? whence? how?
Mr.. Mouser was a man of resources.
Twelve o'clock, midnight. A burglar
ish darkness and silence brooded
around as man stole hence from his
couch, and, grabbing his trousers, left
\ COW bedroom. A little later the only
other active creature about-a feline
prima donna-might have witnessed a
sorry sight; solitary man, marching
clutching in his strong right
aand beautifully-painted green saw
ngjack.
Soon he returned. The sawingjack
where was it?
Mr.. Mouser rose that morning in q
most delightful frame of mind.
.Lisbeth-my dear little Lisbeth,
ne exclaimed friskiiy, '1'm going to
work in earnest, to-day. | am feeling
ine-much better than have for some
;ime. Here, feel this arm. How's that
'or muscle, eh? That's what saving
wood has doner'
Lisbeth blinked oddly, but looked
Mr. Mouser fastened out
% .sflip off stick or two before break
Fast,o but soon came in looking quite
.ngry and puzzled
ssWhat in the world has become OF
hat jack?" 1t was gone. ''Such lnfa-
ny-to steal ones very implements OF
oily he cried in rage, as he sent for
he old wood sawyer again.