“My scissors are dull,” said Mother, when she began to cut out Betty’s aprons. “I wish the scissors-grinder would come.”
“He is coming,” said Bobby. “I hear his bell.”
“That sounds like his bell,” said Mother. “Look out, Bobby, and see if it really is the scissors-grinder.”
“It is the scissors-grinder!” cried Bobby. “He is coming down the back street.”
They looked out and saw the scissors-grinder.
He was carrying his grindstone on his back and playing a tune with his bell.
“Call him, Bobby,” said Mother.
The scissors-grinder was quick to see Bobby.
Before Bobby had time to call, he had turned in toward the back door.
He swung his grindstone from his back and set it on the ground.
“Will you please sharpen my scissors?” asked Mother.
The scissors-grinder took the scissors in his hand.
Then “Whir-r-r, whir-r-r, whir-r-r,” went the grindstone. Sparks flew from the whirring stone.
Bobby and Betty stepped back. They were afraid of the grindstone.
“Any knives to grind?” asked the scissors-man when the scissors were ground.
“Yes,” answered Mother. “I wish you would grind this knife.”
Again the wheel went, “Whir-r-r, whir-r-r, whir-r-r.”
Again sparks flew from the grindstone.
Then the man gave Mother the knife, and she paid him for his work.
The scissors-grinder now swung his grindstone on his back. Again he rang his bell.
Bobby and Betty watched the scissors-grinder until he turned a street corner.