It was not long after this that he struck his foot with the ax and lamed himself for life.
As he lay groaning in bed, Mr.Jennings went in to see him and tried to relieve the old man's feelings by telling him the number of times he had practically cut his feet off, and said he knew it was a terrible hard thing to put up with.
"Gol dummit, it ain't the pain," the old sufferer yelled, "it's the dum awkwardness.

I've chopped all my life; I can let an ax in up to the maker's name, and hew to a hair-line; yes, sir! It was jest them dum new mittens my wife made; they was s' slippery," he ended, with a groan.
As a matter of fact, the one accident hinged upon the other.

It was the failure of his left hand, with its useless fingers, to do its duty, that brought the ax down upon his foot.

The pain was not so much physical as mental.

To think that he, who could hew to a hair-line, right and left hand, should cut his own foot like a ten-year-old boy--that scared him.
It brought age and decay close to him.