Dig, Says The Book UFLI Foundations Lesson 84

Ned had one aim when he came to this land. He wanted a home. He cut planks and made a shed. Small clumps of plants lay on the hill all the way to the far end. 'It is perfect,' said Ned, standing in his shed with a big grin. 'This is the last shed I will ever make.'

Inside the shed, The Book lifted up with its pages open wide. 'If you want to make things, you must dig,' it said. 'Dig?' Ned held up his hands. 'My hands still hurt from punching all those logs!' 'Not with your hands, Ned,' said The Book with a smile. 'I will train you to make your very first spade.'

The Book turned to a page with a plan. 'Get some planks and sticks, then place them this way,' it said. Ned lined up the parts at the table, and the parts fit with a snap. His spade was made! Ned held up the spade with a grin and said, 'I made a spade! I am the best!' 'The plan did the job,' said The Book.

Ned marched into the sunny day, holding his spade up like a flag. Then he came to a halt. He turned the spade over. He held it with the flat end at the top. 'Which end do I dig with?' he asked. 'The flat end,' said The Book. 'Let us aim for the sand. It is nice and soft.'

Ned pushed his spade into the sand as hard as he could. A big clump came up and left a hole in the sand. Ned stared and did not say a thing. 'That,' he whispered, 'was the best thing I ever did in my life.' 'You dug up one clump of sand, Ned,' said The Book. 'Can I dig a lot more?' Ned asked. 'Yes,' said The Book. 'Stay with me.'

The Book led Ned to a hill of dirt. Ned did not wait. He dug into the side and dug and dug. Dirt rained on his face. He made a hole so big he could walk inside. Ned wiped his face and smiled. 'I think I was born to dig.'

Ned hit something hard. Clang! It did not budge an inch. A big golden block lay at the base of the pit. 'My spade broke!' said Ned. 'The spade is fine, Ned,' said The Book. 'That is stone. A spade can not crack it.'

Ned folded his arms and asked, 'A spade can dig sand and dirt, but not stone?' 'That is correct,' said The Book. 'That is bad,' said Ned. 'It is not so bad,' said The Book. 'There is a way to crack stone. You must use something sharp and hard.' Ned's face lit up. 'Back to the shed?' he asked.

Back in the shed, The Book displayed a fresh plan. Ned moved in close, squinting. 'So it is two sharp tips on a stick?' 'Yes, Ned.' 'Like a fang on a handle?' 'Just make it, Ned.' Ned got to work at the table, shaping the tips.

Ned held it up and admired it. Two sharp tips on a long handle. It felt solid and strong. 'What is it called?' Ned asked. 'A pick,' said The Book. 'Can I crack stone with this?' 'Stone, and so much more,' said The Book with a wide smile. Ned was on his way.

Ned went back into the pit and faced the stone wall. He lifted his pick. 'This is it,' he said. He swung with all his strength. Crack! Cracks shot from the spot like rays, and chunks of stone fell. Ned gave a wide grin. 'I was born to dig,' he said.

Ned cracked and carved until he had a big cave. Lanterns lit the walls. Stone blocks lay piled in stacks. Ned sat with his pick, smiling. 'Well dug, Ned,' said The Book. 'You will want all this stone.' 'For what?' said Ned. 'A grand fort!' said The Book. Ned lifted his pick. 'Dig, Ned, dig!'