THE OLD BLACKSMITH
Dan saw no prospect of his question being answered immediately, so,
after listening to the retreating footsteps of the stranger he resumed
his journey to the village.
“I hope Mr. Lee isn’t in,” said the boy to himself, as he neared the
store. “He might say something unpleasant, and there are usually a lot
of men in his place evenings. I hope I don’t meet him until he has had
a chance to forget about the bull.”
As Dan was walking along the village street he was hailed by a youth
about his own age.
“Hi, Dan! When ye goin’ t’ give an exhibition?”
“What sort of an exhibition, Tom?”
“Masterin’ wild bulls! I herd ye was pretty good at it,” and the boy
laughed.
Dan knew by this that his experience with the animal, which had treed
Mr. Lee, was pretty well known in the village. Still he hoped that he
would not meet the storekeeper when he went in for the yeast cake. Nor
did he, a clerk waiting on him and giving him what he wanted.
There was no sign of Mr. Lee about the store, which was filled with the
usual crowd of loungers. Nobody, however, seemed to notice Dan.
“I’m glad I didn’t see him,” thought the boy as he was on his way home.
As Dan neared the place where he had met the mysterious stranger he
thought he saw the figure of a man crossing the lots, near the turn of
the road. He had half a notion to investigate, and see if it was the
man who had appeared to take such an interest in him, but the thought
of Mrs. Savage waiting for the yeast cake made him fear this would not
be advisable. So he kept on, although as he walked along the grass by
the roadside, he was almost sure he heard the footsteps of some one on
the highway.
“Wa’al, why didn’t ye stay all night?” demanded Mrs. Savage very
ungraciously when Dan, who was very tired, came in. He did not answer,
and, as there was no further demand made on him, except to see that
the henhouse was locked, he went up to bed.
Hard work is a good thing in one way, for it brings refreshing sleep.
When Dan awoke the next morning he felt much better, physically and
mentally. It was a bright, beautiful day, and when he was dressing he
could hear the songs of birds, in the trees opposite his window.
“I hope things go well to-day,” the boy thought. “I haven’t got much to
be thankful for, but I can be glad it isn’t raining. Still, if it was,
I suppose I’d have to shell corn in the barn.”
He started to whistle a merry tune, but was rudely interrupted by a
call from below:
“Come now!” cried Mr. Savage. “Going t’ lay abed all day? Stir yer
stumps up there, Dan. There’s work t’ be done, an’ I hope ye don’t
expect me t’ do all of it! Move lively, git yer breakfast an’ shell
some more corn!”
Dan hurried with his dressing, spent little time over his washing
operations, and was soon hurrying with his breakfast. Everything
seemed to be “hurry” with him. He had no time for leisure with such a
task-master over him as Peter Savage.
Dan was about half through with his morning’s work of shelling corn for
the horses, when Mr. Savage appeared in the barn.
“Is that all ye got done?” he asked.
“I worked as fast as I could.”
“Fast! Humph, I guess ye must a’ turned it backward part of th’ time.
Now git a move on ye. Mrs. Savage want’s ye t’ go t’ th’ store fer some
molasses. Don’t be all day, nuther.”
“Shall I hitch up?”
“Hitch up? Not much. Ye kin walk, can’t ye?”
“Certainly, but I thought I might bring back some bran; we need it.”
“I’ll tend t’ that. Hustle now, an’ walk fast.”
Dan did not mind the walk so much this morning, as it would rest his
back from the wearisome labor of turning the corn sheller. He got the
molasses jug and started off, striking up a whistling chorus.
“Oh, let up on that!” exclaimed Mrs. Savage who was in no very good
humor, because the bread had not “come up” properly. “Boys is always
makin’ useless noises. Ye’ll walk faster ef ye don’t whistle, an’ I
want that molasses t’ make a Johnny cake fer dinner.”
Dan ceased his whistling until he was out of the hearing of Mrs.
Savage, and then he began again.
“It looks as if I’d get into trouble again before night,” he thought.
“I wonder what makes some people so mean, anyhow?”
Dan’s meditation was interrupted by hearing a wagon coming behind him.
He looked to see who it was, and the man driving the horse called out,
at the sight of the boy:
“Hello, Dan. Going to the village, I suppose? Don’t you want a ride?
There’s plenty of room.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I wouldn’t mind a lift,” and Dan climbed up
on the seat beside Holman Harrison, the village blacksmith, a kindly
old man, and a veteran of the Civil War. He had known Dan’s father and
mother, and had been acquainted with Dan ever since the lad was a baby.
In fact Mr. Harrison was the one person in the village whom Dan could
think of as a friend.
“Going after vinegar?” asked the blacksmith, noticing the jug Dan
carried.
“No, Mr. Harrison, molasses.”
“Going to catch flies?”
“Catch flies? What do you mean?”
“Well, you know there’s an old saying, that it’s easier to catch flies
with molasses than it is with vinegar, and I thought perhaps Mrs.
Savage was going to try it.”
“I guess she wouldn’t waste vinegar or molasses that way. She’d drive
the flies out with a broom.”
“Yes, she and Peter are pretty ‘close’ I guess. How do you like it
there?”
“It might be worse.” Dan was not going to “tattle” about his employer.
“And that means it isn’t very good,” said the blacksmith shrewdly. “I
know Peter Savage, and he’s a hard man to work for. I wish I could help
you, Dan, for the sake of your mother and father, who often did me good
turns, but I can barely make a living for myself. Times are very hard.
I had to walk five miles to-day to get the job of repairing this wagon.
The man said if I’d come after it I could fix it for him, so I tramped
after it, borrowed his horse and I’m taking the wagon to my shop. When
I get it fixed I’ll drive back with it. Otherwise you wouldn’t see me
riding around like this. As it is I’ll have to walk back.”
“I hope you will meet some one who will give you a lift,” said Dan,
with a smile.
“Perhaps I will. Still I’m good and strong yet, if I am old, and have a
bullet in my leg from the battle of Antietam. I can limp along with the
best of ’em.”
“Does it hurt you very much?”
“Only just before a storm. Curious, but that Confederate bullet is as
good as a barometer. I can tell for sure when it’s going to rain. When
I can’t make a living blacksmithing any more I’m going to hire out as a
weather prophet,” and the veteran laughed heartily at his misfortune.
The two chatted pleasantly during the ride, the blacksmith, at Dan’s
request, relating some of his war experiences. In turn Mr. Harrison
sought to draw from the boy something about his life at the Savage
farm, but Dan was not the one to complain, even if he did have it hard.
“I know it can’t be very pleasant there for you,” said the old soldier,
“and I wish I could take you with me, but, as I said, I have hard
enough work to get along. Still, Dan, don’t forget I’m your friend, no
matter what happens, and if I can ever do anything for you, just let me
know.”
A little later they drove into the village, and, as Mr. Harrison
turned the horse down the side street leading to his shop, Dan saw the
mysterious stranger standing in front of Mr. Johnson’s shoe store.
“There he is again!” exclaimed the boy. “I wonder what he can be doing
around here.”
“That man,” and Dan pointed to him.
“What? Do you know him too?”
“Well, I don’t exactly know him, but I’ve talked with him,” and Dan
related what had passed between himself and the man. “Do you know who
he is, Mr. Harrison?”
“No, except he says he’s an inventor. He came into my place yesterday,
and got me to fix some sort of a tool. I never saw one like it before.
It was like a long chisel, or a big tack lifter. I thought it might be
for taking up carpets, and I asked him, but he said it was a new tool
he had invented, and that he wasn’t at liberty to tell me what it was
for. It had broken in two, and I welded it together for him. When I saw
he didn’t want to talk, I didn’t ask him any more questions. He’s a
queer man, but he seems to have plenty of money. But, if you’re going
to Mr. Lee’s store, you’d better get out here. Sorry I can’t give you a
ride back.”
“You’ve given me a good lift as it was,” said Dan, as he alighted
with the molasses jug. The blacksmith turned off into another street,
and, as Dan started for the general store, he saw the stranger waving
his hand to some one. Turning to see who it was, Dan beheld a rather
poorly dressed individual join the man in front of the shoe store.
“Well, he evidently knows some one in the village,” thought Dan.