"Ay, 'tis so, I know," he answers. "I've
studied it all through." He gets up into the seat and starts off
again; it goes steadily now. Suddenly the machine stops working--the
knives are not cutting at all. "_Ptro_! What's wrong now?" Father down
from his seat, no longer swelling with pride, but bending an anxious,
questioning face down over the machine. Father and sons all stare at
it; something must be wrong. Eleseus stands holding the instructions.
"Here's a bolt or something," says Sivert, picking up a thing from the
grass.
"Ho, that's all right, then," says his father, as if that was all that
was needed to set everything in order. "I was just looking for that
bolt." But now they could not find the hole for it to fit in--where
in the name of wonder could the hole be, now?
And it was now that Eleseus could begin to feel himself a person
of importance; he was the man to make out a printed paper of
instructions. What would they do without him? He pointed unnecessarily
long to the hole and explained: "According to the illustration, the
bolt should fit in there.
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