Explore "The Middle Five" by Francis La Flesche on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Brush was a genius as a whittler. He had only one tool, and that was a rusty jackknife with a single broken blade, and that blade was kept sharp almost to the keenness of a razor. He would take a shapeless piece of wood, out here, out there, scrape at one place, then at another, and go through a series of twists and turns of his strong, deft hands, and at last, with a triumphant smile, hold up to view a wooden horse, buffalo, or some other animal. He had just now finished a little plough which he had been carving for some time, and we, the Middle Five, sat in the shade of a tree noisily discussing the accuracy of the work.
"Brush, that's pretty good, it's just like the ploughs I've seen," I remarked as I passed the toy to Edwin.