Neither a Borrower...

I love ancestor stories . . .

1854.

The Council House was being built in Manti, Utah, using volunteer labour.

And borrowed tools.

My GGGrandfather Stringam was one of those labourers.

With one of those borrowed tools.

In this instance, a hammer, lent to him by his friend, Augustus Dodge.

GGGrandfather, together with the rest of the crew, was busily laying flooring on the upper level of the mostly-finished building when the call came for lunch.

Setting the hammer down, he happily answered said call.

When he returned, he discovered that everyone had not left when he did, but had continued working.

And the entire floor had been finished.

In dismay, he looked over the beautiful job, knowing that, somewhere under those boards, was the hammer he had borrowed.

Yeah. I know. That happens to things I borrow, too.

Sigh.

Back to my story . . .

He found Augustus and told him his dilemma. He added, “If you’re around when that building is demolished, I guess you can claim your hammer.”

Moving ahead . . .

In 1910, fifty-plus years and a new century later, the Council House was scheduled for removal to make way for a spanking new library.

GGGrandfather, now an elderly man, heard the exciting announcement and went to observe the proceedings.

When the time came for the floor in the upper story to be removed, he was on hand to personally examine the space under every board as it was pulled up.

And finally, there it was.

Augustus Dodge’s borrowed hammer. Safe and sound.

There's a lesson in this.

Always return what you borrow.

Even it it's centuries later.

P.S. I wonder what the fine would be on that 'library book'?!