By the help
of an overturned chicken-coop, which he dragged across the yard, he
managed to climb to the top of the shed. Squatting down on the board, he
gave himself a starting push with one hand. The downward progress was
not so smooth or so rapid as he desired.
"Needs greasin'," he said, looking at the plank with a knowing frown. A
rummage through the old corner cupboard where the provisions were kept
provided him with a wide strip of bacon rind, such as Uncle Billy used
to rub on his saw. John Jay carried it out of doors and carefully rubbed
the plank from one end to the other. Then he greased the underside of
the little board on which he intended to sit. The result was all he
could wish. He slid down the plank at a speed that took his breath. Up
he climbed from the coop to the shed, carrying his board with him, and
down he slid to the ground, time and again, yelling and laughing as he
went, until Bud began to be anxious for his turn. When the little fellow
was boosted to the shed, he did not make a noise as John Jay had done;
he slid in solemn silence and unspoken delight.
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