“That is pretty work, and won’t require quite so much elbow-grease.”

“I have a particular liking for driving nails,” replied James; “where shall I begin?”

“Right here, where I have put in these two. Lay them just as I have laid these, and it will be right. See if you can ‘hit the nail on the head’; some boys never can do it, and so they grow up to be men, and live and die, without ever ‘hitting the nail on the head.’” Mr. Treat cast a knowing look at James as he said it, and a smile played over his face, as if curious to see how his figurative expression was taken.

“I can his that sort of a nail on the head, if I can’t any other,” answered James, with a smile, understanding the drift of his figure of speech. And hastily he let drive his hammer at a nail, and missed it the first time, much to his chagrin.

“Missed the first blow!” exclaimed the carpenter, with a shout of laughter. “You didn’t do that as well as you did the planing and mortising. How is that?”

“Only a blunder,” James replied, with evident mortification.

“Well, see if you can strike again without blundering,” responded Mr. Treat, laughing. “There’s a ‘knack’ in driving nails as well as in planing boards. Just get the ‘knack’ of the thing, and it will go.”

“Here goes the ‘knack,’ then,” exclaimed James, as his hammer struck the nail squarely on the head. “The ‘knack’ it is, every time! Nails are made to drive, and I will drive them.” And his hammer flew with unerring aim, as nail after nail was driven in with a will that signified determination and force of character. Missing the first blow just set him on his taps, resolved that a steady aim and square hit should attend every blow that followed. He learned the lesson of carefulness and brave endeavour from his failure, so that he became more expert in the use of the hammer than he would have been otherwise. Such is the case with all boys who win; a failure arouses their latent skill and energy, and they bid defiance to failures thereafter. In his youth, Curran, who became the famous Irish orator, broke down on his first attempt to speak in a debating society. He was a stammerer, and when he rose in his place his stuttering speech was worse than ever. He floundered at first, stammered out something nobody could understand, and then stood speechless. His companions roared with laughter. One said, in a low voice, “Orator Mum!” Another peal of laughter followed this new title; and it aroused the invincible spirit of the boy.

“You may laugh now,” he shouted finally, “but I will conquer this stammering tongue, and some day you will listen and commend.” All of which came to pass exactly as prophesied. The gist of the matter was in him, and the mortifying failure served to bring it out.

“Nothing like being plucky,” remarked Mr. Treat, when he witnessed James’s success in driving nails. “Pluck wins when luck loses.”

“Mother says there is no such thing as luck,” responded James.

“Your mother is about right, according to my notion,” answered Mr. Treat. “Boys that depend on luck for a livelihood go pretty hungry sometimes. I’d rather a boy of mine would have a single ounce of pluck than a whole pound of luck. Luck is like an old United States bank bill, of very uncertain value; but pluck is good as gold all the time.”

“Well” said James jocosely, “you must admit that my first blow was a very unlucky one.”

“Unlucky! the deuce it was!” exclaimed Mr. Treat. “It was just what you said it was, ‘a blunder,’ and a blunder is neither lucky nor unlucky. But you have made amends, so go ahead with your nailing.”

And James did go ahead, spending every moment possible in labour upon the new house, and acquiring facility in the use of tools that served him a good turn many years thereafter. To the last day’s labour upon the house James rendered all the assistance he could, happy only in the thought that he could