g, I might
have tied it firmly there. But I had nothing to draw the well-riveted
nail, and the back-spring resisted all my efforts to detach it.

The haft, therefore, was of no more use than an ordinary piece of
stick--indeed, not so much, for just then it occurred to me that a piece
of stick might serve my purpose better. Out of a proper piece, I might
be able to make some sort of a handle that would serve to hold the
blade, so that I might still cut with it.

The encouragement which this idea gave me, once more roused my mind to
new activity, and I set to thinking how I might make a new haft for the
broken blade.

Necessity sharpened my ingenuity; and I was not long in conceiving my
design, nor a great while either about the execution of it; for in about
an hour's time I held in my hand a knife with a complete handle. It was
but a rude one at best; but I felt satisfied it would serve my purpose
nearly as well as that which I had lost; and this belief once more
restored me to confidence and cheerfulness.

The new haft I had made in the following fashion:--Having procured a
piece of wood from one of the thick boards, I first whittled it to the
proper shape and size. This I was enabled to do with the blade, which,
although without a handle, served well enough for light work like that.
I then contrived to make a cleft in the stick, to the depth of two
inches from its end; and into this cleft I inserted the broken end of
the blade. To lap this tightly with a string, was my next idea; but I
perceived at once that this would not do. The string would be stretched
by the action of the blade, and the latter would soon get loose. If the
sharp edge only came against the twine, while the blade was being worked
backwards and forwards, it would instantly sever it, and then the blade
would pull out, perhaps drop down among the boxes, and so get lost.
Such an accident would be fatal to my prospects; and, if possible, I
must not risk it.

What could I find that would fasten the blade more securely in the
cleft? If I could have obtained a yard or two of wire, it would have
been just the thing; but there was no wire near me. What! thought I, no
wire near me? The piano! the strings! surely _they_ are of wire?

Once more the piano became the object of my attention; and if I could at
that moment have reached the inside of it, I should certainly have
robbed it of one of its strings. But, then, to get at the string?--that
wa