When I was a little boy, I remember one cold winter morning a smiling man came close to me with an ax on his shoulder. "My pretty boy, " he said, "has your father got a grindstone? "
"Yes, sir, " I said.
"You are a fine little fellow!" he said. "Will you let me grind my ax on it?"
Pleased with the praise of "fine little fellow", I answered, "Oh, yes, sir. It is down in the shop. "
"And will you, my man," he said, patting me on the head, "get me a little hot water? "How could I refuse? I ran and soon brought a kettle.
"How old are you? And what's your name?" he continued, without waiting for a reply. "I'm sure you are one of the finest boys that I have ever seen. Will you just turn the ax on the grindstone a few minutes for me?" Pleased with the flattery, and like a little fool, I went to work. In the end, bitterly I regretted that day!
It was a new ax, which is hard to sharpen, and I worked and pulled till I was almost tired to death. The school-bell rang, and I could not get away. My hands were blistered, and the ax was not half done yet! Finally, it was sharpened. However, the man turned to me with," Now, you little rascal, you've played truant. Run to school, or you'll regret it!"
"Oh, no"! I thought. It was hard enough to turn a grindstone this cold day, but now to be called a naughty boy is too much. It sank deep into my mind, and often have I thought of it since.
When I see a salesman over-polite to his customers, begging them to have a little whisky and throwing his goods on the counter, I think, "That man has an ax to grind. "
