Tickled with the flattery like a little fool I went to work, and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new ax — and I toiled and tugged, till I was almost tired to death. The school bell rung, and I could not get away, — my hands were blistered, and it was not half ground.

At length, however, the ax was sharpened, and the man turned to me, with “Now, you little rascal, you’ve played the truant, — scud to school, or you’ll rue it.” Alas, thought I, it was hard enough to turn grindstone this cold day, but now to be called “little rascal” was too much. It sunk deep in my mind, and often have I thought of it since.

When I see a Merchant, over polite to his customers, begging them to taste a little brandy, and throwing half his goods on the counter — thinks I, that man has an ax to grind.

When I have seen a man of doubtful character, patting a girl on the cheek, praising her sparkling eye and ruby lip, and giving her a sly squeeze, — Beware my girl, tho’t I, or you will find to your sorrow, that you have been turning grindstone for a villain.