that I had been down at the mill, and expected me to say something.

"We all must have our little mistakes," continued Sawyer Gundry; "but I
never like to push a man when he feels it. I shall not say a syllable to
Martin; and, Ephraim, you will do the like. When a fellow sticks well to
his work like Martin, never blame him for a mere accident."

Firm, according to his habit, made no answer when he did not quite
agree. In talking with his own age he might have argued, but he did not
argue with his grandfather.

"I shall just go down and put it right myself. Martin is a poor hand at
repairing. Firm, you go up the gulch, and see if the fresh has hurt the
hurdles. Missy, you may come with me, if you please, and sketch me at
work in the mill-wheel. You have drawn that wheel such a sight of times,
you must know every feather of it better than the man who made it."

"Uncle Sam, you are too bad," I said. "I have never got it right, and I
never shall."

I did not dare as yet to think what really proved to be true in the
end--that I could not draw the wheel correctly because itself was
incorrect. In spite of all Mr. Gundry's skill and labor and ingenuity,
the wheel was no true circle. The error began in the hub itself, and
increased, of course, with the distance; but still it worked very well,
like many other things that are not perfect.

Having no idea of this as yet, and doubting nothing except my own
perception of "perspective," I sat down once more in my favorite spot,
and waited for the master to appear as an active figure in the midst
of it. The air was particularly bright and clear, even for that pure
climate, and I could even see the blue-winged flies darting in and out
of the oozy floats. But half-way up the mountains a white cloud was
hanging, a cloud that kept on changing shape. I only observed it as a
thing to put in for my background, because I was fond of trying to tone
and touch up my sketches with French chalks.

Presently I heard a harsh metallic sound and creaking of machinery. The
bites, or clamps, or whatever they are called, were being put on, to
keep the wheel from revolving with the Sawyer's weight. Martin, the
foreman, was grumbling and growling, according to his habit, and peering
through the slot, or channel of stone, in which the axle worked, and the
cheery voice of Mr. Gundry was putting down his objections. Being much
too large to pass through the slot, Mr. Gundry came round the corner
of the b