,
I freely admit that there is no carpenter's tool which prepares one to
handle a pen. To be sure, I have read some stories which, it seemed to
me, could have been improved by the judicious use of a handsaw, had that
extremely radical tool been able to work aesthetically as it does
practically; and while I have read certain other stories, and essays,
and poems, I have been tormented by an intense desire to apply to them a
smoothing-plane, a pair of compasses, or a square, or even to so far
interfere with their arrangement as to cut a window-hole or two, and an
occasional ventilator. Still, admitting that the carpenter should stick
to his bench--or to his office or carriage, if he is a master builder,
as I am--I must yet insist that there are occasions when a man is
absolutely compelled to handle tools to which he is not accustomed.
Doctor Buzzle, my own revered pastor, established this principle firmly
in my mind one day by means of a mild rebuke, administered on the
occasion of my volunteering to repair some old chairs which had come
down to him through several generations. The doctor was at work upon
them himself, and although he seemed to regard the very chips and
sawdust--even such as found a way into his eyes--with a reverent
affection, he was certainly ruining good material in a shocking manner.
But when I proffered my assistance, he replied:

"Thank you, Joseph; but--they wouldn't be the same chairs if any one
else touched them."

I feel similarly about the matter of my story--perhaps you will
understand why as you read it.

When I had finished my apprenticeship, people seemed to like me, and
some of our principal men advised me to stay at Bartley, my native
village--it was so near the city, they said, and would soon fill up with
city people, who would want villas and cottages built. So I staid, and
between small jobs of repairing, and contracts to build fences, stables
and carriage-houses, I managed to keep myself busy, and to save a little
money after I had paid my bills.

One day it was understood that a gentleman from the city had bought a
villa site overlooking the town, and intended to build very soon. I
immediately wrote him a note, saying I would be glad to see his plans
and make an estimate; and in the course of time the plans were sent me,
and I am happy to say that I under-estimated every one, even my own old
employer.

Then the gentleman--Markson his name was--drove out to see me, and he
put me