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Updated: May 8, 2025
Almost any one can kindle a fire with dry materials. It takes a woodman to build a fire when it has been raining and everything is wet. The boy's method of taking a few newspapers, and a handful of brush or leaves will not do. First look around for an old dead top of a pine or cedar. If you cannot find one, chop down a cedar tree. Whittle a handful of splinters and shavings from the dry heart.
The person was some labourer; his gait was shambling, his regard fixed in front of him as absolutely as if he wore blinkers; and in his hand he carried a few sticks. Having crossed the road he descended into a ravine, where a cottage revealed itself, which he entered. "If it were not so far away from Casterbridge I should say that must be poor Whittle. 'Tis just like him," observed Elizabeth-Jane.
And the Toyman began to whittle, whittle away. Sometimes he used the big blade, sometimes the small one. Marmaduke watched him, all eyes. And as the Toyman whittled sometimes he whistled, and sometimes he sang a funny song in a funny voice. You see he could make rhymes as well as toys. "When a little boy's sick And stays in bed, And things feel queer Inside his head.
"Heaven knows there's nothin' else to take me there," and there was just a shade of bitterness in the twist of Hiram's good-natured mouth. In place of tossing pebbles, Uncle Sebastian chose to pick up a redwood splinter on which to whittle. He took out a slick-handled jackknife, blew a clot of pocket lint from the springs, opened a whetted pruning blade, and began shaving the brittle wood.
There's nothing left for me but my knife, and they are as hard as shoehorns, I know. I don't want to break my whittle against his skin. No, he's going to let us go by. Ah! Look out!"
I've no notion o' them chaps when they're left at a place wi' nothin' to do but whittle sticks." "Why, Joe!" exclaimed Dick Varley in a tone of surprise, "I thought you were admirin' the beautiful face o' nature all this time, and ye're only thinkin' about the sodgers. Now, that's strange!" "Not so strange after all, lad," answered Joe.
D'ri exclaimed, rising to his knees. "'S whut I call a twister." He began to whittle a piece of the splintered platform. Then he lit a shaving. "They 's ground here," said he, as he began to kindle a fire, "ground a-plenty right under us." The firelight gave us a good look at our cave under the logs. It was about ten feet long and probably half as high.
The first object he saw was a willow cup half full of red paint, stuck and dried as if to remain forever. He took his knife and tried to whittle it off, but noticing that he was scratching the cup he filled it with turpentine, set it under a work bench, turned a tin pan over it, and covered it with shavings. A few steps farther brought one in sight, filled with carpet tacks.
Well, I walked to the winder and looked out, but there was nothin' to see there; and then I turned and looked at a great big map on the wall, and there was nothin' I didn't know there; and then I took out my pen-knife to whittle, but my nails was all whittled off already, except one, and that was made into a pen, and I didn't like to spile that; and as there wasn't any thing I could get hold of, I jist slivered a great big bit off the leg of the chair, and began to make a toothpick of it.
"Yes, she's coming, and she looks to me as if she might have money." "Who is she?" asked Mrs. Whittle. "How do I know? Mrs. Mixter's Tommy told my Sam, and he told me, and I saw Mrs. Black and the boarder coming out of her yard, when I went out of mine, and I hurried so's to get here first. Hush! Here they come now."
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