ONE summer afternoon, when the grassy slope before the house was untidy
with fallen leaves, and sticks, and withered flowers, I asked Garry to
go and bring the rake that we might clear away the rubbish.
So off he ran, and soon came back with an _iron_ rake. Now, if you have
ever tried one, you will know that an iron rake is not nearly as good
for this purpose as a wooden rake, as it is heavy, and the teeth are so
sharp that they tear the roots of the grass.
I used it for a while; but, in spite of all I could do, the teeth would
catch the roots. At last Garry exclaimed, "Grandma, let me take it. I
can make it all right."
I gave it to him, and the dear little boy took it behind a log, and was
very busy and quiet for several minutes. Then I called, "Come, Garry, I
don't believe you can help it."
"Oh!" said he, "you just wait a little, and you will see." And, to be
sure, in a very short time he brought me the rake, with a hard green
apple on each outer tooth, pushed on just so far that the other teeth
would catch the litter of leaves and sticks without disturbing the
grass.
Wasn't that a bright idea for a little boy five and a half years old?