A little remote from the centre of a village, on that strip of seacoast
in the southeastern part of New Hampshire, lived a self-made trader,
Joshua Jackson. He occupied a small, unpainted house, two stories in
front, with the roof sloping down at the back part to one story. In the
rear was the barn, with its generous red door, a well with its long
"sweep," a pig-pen, and a hen-pen; but the hens seemed equally or more
at home in the barn, with liberty of the yard, and sometimes they took a
peep of curiosity into the back entry of the house.
Here, with his mother, lived Joshua Jackson, familiarly known as "Uncle
Josh." It is a kind instinct which makes humanity in the rural districts
claim, as uncle or aunt, any single man or woman who is left one side of
the common lot of marriage and its ties. It is a relationship accepted
in silent, good-natured consent on both sides. It was difficult to think
of Uncle Josh as ever having been young. His hair, his complexion, his
eyes, and even his coat, all seemed nearly of a color--a kind of
snuff-colored red. He had a limping, rolling gait, affected by some
infirmity of lameness which had, perhaps, prevented him from engaging in
farming or fishing, which employed most men of the village; so he went
into trade.
One of the "fore rooms," so called, of the house was his shop; the floor
was of immaculate neatness, and carefully sanded every morning. On one
side stood a cluster of barrels, one empty barrel surmounted by a board,
exactly a yard long, the edge notched for the quarters and inches. This
was his counter, and held a clumsy pair of scales. On the other side was
a rude table containing boxes of cotton cloth, cambrics or checked
goods, sewing cotton, buttons, thimbles, scissors, jack-knives, needles,
and pins. On the mantel-shelf stood a pile of white, blue-edged plates,
and mugs, and pitchers, from which projected sticks of red and white
candy, like miniature barber's poles, and heaps of "gibraltars," hard
and solid, sweet and brittle, and honest. Every child knew that they
were a cent apiece, and thought them worth it.
No errand was half as welcome as one to Uncle Josh, when they might take
an egg and get a skein of cotton. Sometimes he dived down into a cask of
raisins as he passed by it, and filled the hand of the waiting messenger
when he gave her whatever she came for, and took her money. Uncle Josh
made no charges; he went on the cash system. He would barter, but he
kept no running accounts with any one. The youngest child might go to
him with the same certainty of right measure and weight as the shrewdest
adult. One bright-faced little girl, who used to come often into his
store, neatly dressed in her high-necked tier, and cape-bonnet, seemed
to be a great favorite with him. He would sometimes say, half aside,
that she was "pooty as a queen," although why the sturdy republican
should make that comparison is a mystery. One day he stood at the open
door, wistfully watching her as she walked off with her light, elastic
step, and his mother, who had come in from the back room, answered to
his unspoken thought, "Yes, she does, look a sight as Liza used to." The
one woman whom others had connected with the idea of Uncle Josh's
marrying had been dead long ago. It was said he had meant to ask her to
be his wife when he should have laid by a certain sum of money, but the
shy and reticent man suddenly found her "spoken for," as the villagers
termed it, by the mate of a vessel. She died of consumption, unmarried.
Uncle Josh never referred to this passage in his life, but his mother
knew his mind, and why his words grew fewer than ever. The little Molly
reproduced the soft hazel eyes and the trim air he so well remembered in
her aunt.
Uncle Josh had a way of calling all strangers "furiners." A pale-faced
girl who was boarding at the seashore for her health was delighted to be
sent by her hostess, or any of the family, on an errand to the queer,
quaint, old store, kept by "the funny old man." "You're a furiner, I
guess," he said to her one day. "No, indeed, sir," she answered quickly,
with an indignant blush, "I am not a foreigner. I came from Rochester,
New York." "Why! such a long piece off, poor child, poor child," he
muttered, as he went to a mug and took out a bright red sugar heart, and
pressed it in her hand. "Ain't you dreadful homesick to live so fur?"
"Oh, no; my home is very pleasant, and my father and mother are
travelling; but they left me here because I have not been strong since I
had the fever, and the doctor said I must bathe every day in the ocean.
I have nice times. They keep cows where I board, and let me milk them a
little sometimes. I am going to stay all summer." "Yes, yes; there are
getting to be a great many furiners here in the summer." "What did Uncle
Josh mean?" she asked on her return to the house; "did he take me for an
Irish or a German girl? He asked if I was a foreigner." "Oh, he meant a
stranger here in the village--some one not born here. He always calls
'em so. A good many folks do."
When Uncle Josh first went to Boston to buy his stock in trade, it was
said that a merchant of whom he made large purchases, thought he did not
know about trusting so queer and shabby looking a customer,--he should
have to require good security. To his surprise, the countryman looked at
the amount, unbuttoned his coat, and, from an ample old pocket-book he
counted off his money; then from the depths of his pantaloon's pocket he
brought up a round piece of leather twisted together for fastening, and
from this he counted the exact change. Then he directed how the goods
should be sent to him by such a schooner at a certain wharf. "Thank you,
Mr. Jackson," said the merchant; "I hope we shall always be able to
accommodate you. You prefer to pay down now, I see; but if you would
like to have your bill remain awhile on credit at any time, we shall be
happy to trust you." "It is very kind in you, but I don't trade on
promises. 'Tain't my way. I thank ye all the same."
One day Uncle Josh happened to be in a merchant's store when the head of
the establishment was absent. The clerk who waited on him had the
pertness and superior airs of youth, sometimes seen even fifty years
ago. He thought it fine fun to chaff the old countryman so shabbily
dressed, and who drawled his words, and seemed so heavy and lumbering in
his movements. As his customer said he guessed he would take so much of
one thing, and then of another, the clerk said, "You are running up
quite an account, it seems to me. Dipping in pretty deep for a man like
you, hey?" "Perhaps I am," answered the old man; "I'll let 'em go," and
walked out of the store. Another clerk who had finished business with a
customer, came forward, and said to his fellow-clerk, "What made Mr.
Jackson go off so suddenly?" "Who? That old cove? I rather think he was
miffed at something I said about his dipping in deep. He didn't look as
if he could afford a mouse-trap." "He? why, he's worth his weight in
gold--always money down on the spot. If you've offended him, the
governor'll be in your hair, I can tell you." "Goodness!" cried the
terrified clerk, "I'll go after him, and bring him back," and off he
started in quick pursuit. He could easily distinguish the rusty-looking
suit, and limping, sidelong gait, even among the crowd of passengers on
the sidewalk. When he had nearly overtaken him, he called out, "Here,
sir, Mr. Jackson! Please stop," but the countryman still continued to
move on at his slow pace. The clerk came up to him, and touched his hat,
saying, "Please excuse me, Mr. Jackson. I am sure I didn't mean
anything. I hope you will go back to the store, and let us wait on you.
I am sure Mr. ---- would be so sorry to miss your custom. I hope you will
excuse--" "You can go back to the store, young man," answered Mr.
Jackson, "and tell your master I don't trade on excuses."
When the honest old man was gathered to his fathers, those who had known
him in trade missed him. He always recognized a good article, and was
willing to pay a fair price for it. He believed in a system of just
equivalents in all business; he was exact to the smallest fraction, but
not mean. He was simple, upright, honest, in all his dealings, never
using his shrewdness to the disadvantage of his fellow-men.