THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
MR. BARTON spent the greater part of his time in fishing in the river
Dart. He was a keen sportsman, and often passed long, solitary days
engaged in his favourite recreation; sometimes, however, he took
the boys with him. They thoroughly enjoyed the novelty at first, but
after a while they found it slow work watching Mr. Barton flogging
the stream, and found amusements which suited them better.
One of the first acquaintances they made at Naraton was Seth Stanley,
the village blacksmith. He was a dark, stern-visaged man of middle
age, with a very tender heart beneath a rough exterior. The first
occasion on which he and the boys met, was when the latter
accompanied Mr. Fry to the blacksmith's shop in order to see Boxer,
the farmer's favourite horse, shod.
Boxer was a sort of general factotum, if such a term may be applied
to a horse. It was his duty to perform odd jobs upon the farm, and
make himself generally useful. Mr. Fry drove him to a neighbouring
market town every week in a roomy, old-fashioned gig, and often he
carried the farmer many miles to fetch a flock of sheep, or a herd
of cattle. He was really an invaluable animal, for when required
he did not disdain to do a little ploughing, or draw a cart. The boys
were greatly surprised when they learnt that Boxer was sixteen years
old, for he had plenty of spirit yet; and having always been well fed
and carefully tended, did not look his age. Mr. Fry had owned him
since he had been a colt, and looked upon him in the light of an
old friend.
After Boxer had been carefully fitted with new shoes, the farmer led
him off, whilst the boys still lingered outside the blacksmith's
shop. Seth Stanley invited them to sit down on a long stool which was
placed inside the doorway. He kept the stool there on purpose for his
visitors, for he dearly loved to get some of the villagers in to talk
with him. A very kindly gossip was Seth Stanley, and a most
fascinating place was his shop, with its immense fire and steaming
forge.
Theodore and Jack accepted the invitation to "step inside and sit
down for a few minutes," with alacrity, watching the blacksmith
in his leathern apron with admiring eyes whilst he took a bar of iron
from the fire, and sent the sparks flying upwards as he placed it
on the anvil and beat it with his hammer.
"Oh, Theo," whispered Jack, "isn't he strong? Wouldn't you like to be
a blacksmith? I should!"
Theodore nodded. Presently Seth Stanley turned his attention to his
young visitors. "Well," he said, as he stood before them in his shirt
sleeves with his arms crossed, "what do you think of my trade? Eh?"
He spoke with but a touch of the moorland dialect, in a voice which
was singularly mellow and deep.
"I think it's a very nice trade," Theodore replied, politely;
"my stepbrother was just asking me if I wouldn't like to be a
blacksmith."
Seth Stanley glanced at Jack's pale face and slight form, a smile
crossing his own countenance the while.
"I am stronger than I look," Jack said quickly. "I am not delicate
like I used to be. Am I, Theo?"
"He used to have a bad back," Theodore explained, "but it's quite
well now. He gets tired quicker than I do, but the doctors say he
will grow stronger by-and-bye."
"Ah! the fine moorland air will put fresh life into him,"
the blacksmith declared. "So you are stepbrothers, I hear?"
The boys nodded.
"Which of you is Mr. Barton's son?"
"I am. Have you any children, Mr. Stanley?" Theodore asked, with
polite interest, thinking he was justified in putting a question
in his turn.
"No, sir; I never married. You may call me Seth, if you please—
most folks do. No, I've neither chick nor child belonging to me.
I've a brother, but he and his family stick to their caravan."
"Stick to their caravan!" the boys echoed in astonishment.
"I come from gipsy stock. Stanley's a gipsy name," the blacksmith
informed them. "I was born in a tent under the shelter of one of the
Tors, and I've always had a kind of affection for Dartmoor on that
account. Here's my native air, young gentlemen, and it's never too
keen for me even in the sharpest weather. Ah, you look surprised
to think I'm a gipsy! Perhaps you've been taught to despise the
wandering race?"
"No, no!" Theodore cried hastily, "you mustn't think that."
"No, indeed," Jack added earnestly, "mother wouldn't teach us
to despise anyone; that is, she always says so long as people are
good, nothing else matters much."
"Your mother's quite right," was the hearty response. "But there's
a lot of prejudice against gipsies, and perhaps it's not to be
wondered at. When I was your age I expect it would have been
difficult to find a more hardened young wretch for lying and stealing
than I was! Often and often I've wondered I never came to be
a gaolbird; but God spoke to me in time!"
"How did God speak to you?" Theodore asked, with great curiosity;
then, fearing his question might be deemed impertinent, he added,
deprecatingly, "please don't tell us if you would rather not."
"I don't mind your knowing," the blacksmith returned readily,
"in fact it's a tale I'm rather partial to telling to show the loving
kindness of Almighty God. It was this way. My mother died when I was
a little chap, younger than either of you, and after she was gone,
my father travelled the country with me and my brother, doing a trade
in horse dealing. Father wasn't a bad sort at heart, but during one
winter, which we spent near a big town in the north of England,
he became mixed up with a shady lot of people, and they got the best
of him, and made him the scapegoat for them all. It was a case of
burglary, and my father was taken by the police. He might have got
off easy if he'd have told who his accomplices were. But no,
he wasn't one of that sort! So he got five years' penal servitude,
and was sent to Princetown Prison. Have you ever seen the prison,
young gentlemen?"
"No," they answered, their eager faces expressing their interest
in his story.
"Ah! you can't think what it feels to a gipsy to be a prisoner.
It killed my father; he couldn't stand it. My brother and I found
our way to Princetown, and got hold of the prison chaplain,
who promised he'd try to get us an interview with father because he
was ill, and not likely to recover. Well, we saw him, and he was
dying—poor old father!" The blacksmith passed the back of his hand
across his eyes, and continued, "He could just speak. 'Seth,' he said
to me, 'I'm dying, but I'm not afraid. Him as was born in a stable,
and was the Friend of sinners and outcasts like us—He's going along
with me. Promise you'll find Him too.' Well, I promised, and poor
father died. Afterwards my brother and I went away, and earned our
livings as best we could. My promise to father didn't trouble me
much; I'd only given it to satisfy him, you see. But, some years
afterwards, I fell sick, and was taken to a hospital, and there they
told me of that same Lord Jesus, the Friend of sinners and outcasts,
poor father had wanted me to find; and I learnt I hadn't far to go
to seek Him because He was everywhere."
"Well?" questioned Jack eagerly, his eyes shining with a brilliant
light, his usually pale cheeks flushed.
"Well, sir, I found Him, and I've tried to live an honest life ever
since. I'd learnt to be a blacksmith, and as there wasn't one
in Naraton, I came and started business here, and I've done well."
"How mother would like to hear your story!" Jack exclaimed. "Would
you mind if I told her?"
"Not at all, sir. It always seems very wonderful to me, because good
came out of evil. If father hadn't been sent to prison he might never
have found the Lord Jesus. I've told the tale to many, and mayhaps
it's been a lesson to some."
There was a short silence, which Theodore broke by asking:
"Didn't you say your brother lived in a caravan?"
"Yes, sir. He's a married man with a troop of youngsters. Sometimes
in the summer they find their way here, and glad enough I am to see
them. Farmer Fry allows them to encamp in one of his fields, and they
can have as much milk as they like from the farm, and Mrs. Fry knows
her poultry's safe though there are gipsies upon the estate."
"It must be fun living in a caravan," Theodore said with enthusiasm.
"I think I should like to be a gipsy."
Seth Stanley shook his head, laughing at the idea.
"Or I should like to be a great traveller, or an explorer," Theodore
proceeded, "and have wonderful adventures."
"I suppose you've explored the places around here?" the blacksmith
said enquiringly.
"We've been for several long walks with mother and Jane,"
Jack answered, "and father takes us fishing with him sometimes."
"Have you never been to the Hermit's Cave?"
"No!" Theodore replied quickly. "Where is it? What is it? Is it far?"
Seth Stanley went to the doorway of his shop, the boys following,
and pointed to the range of hills which stretched before their eyes
in the distance, bathed in the bright spring sunshine.
"Do you see that Tor, the highest of the lot, the one with a mass
of granite rocks near the top?"
"Yes!" the boys responded eagerly. "Is the Hermit's Cave there?"
"Nearly at the highest point of the hill on the north side. Folks
can't decide whether Nature or man formed the cave. 'Tis made
of granite, as though hewn out of the rock; and many years ago there
was a great granite boulder in front of the opening, but that was
rolled away long since. 'Tis said a hermit lived and died there; and,
as in the case of Moses, no one but God knows where he was buried,
but I can't vouch whether that's true or not."
"What is a hermit?" Theodore questioned.
"Oh, Theo, don't you know?" Jack cried. "There are no hermits
now-a-days, at least I don't think there are, but they used to be
very holy men, who lived alone, and spent their lives in prayer.
I suppose they were very good," he added doubtfully, "but it seems
rather a silly idea to live away from everyone else, doesn't it?"
"So it does, sir," the blacksmith agreed, "but I've heard tell those
old hermits were a great deal thought of in their time, and I suppose
they fancied they were doing right. Perhaps they did the best
they knew, and if so, they couldn't do more, as God will remember
at the Judgment Day."
"I think we ought to be going now," Jack remarked regretfully,
"or mother will wonder where we are. May we come to see you again?"
"I shall be very pleased to see both of you whenever you honour me
with a visit," Seth Stanley responded heartily, a pleasant smile
brightening his dark countenance. "Good morning to you, young
gentlemen!"
"Good morning!" shouted the boys as they ran across the green,
looking back and waving their hands to their new friend, who stood
watching them till they turned down the road which led to Blackburn
Farm.
"Jack," said Theodore, as out of breath they slackened their pace,
"wouldn't you like to see the Hermit's Cave?"
"Indeed I should! Shall we ask mother to take us there one day?"
Jack suggested.
"No, no!" Theodore cried hastily. "It would be much nicer if we went
by ourselves, then we could pretend we were explorers, don't you
see?"
"Yes; but do you think mother would allow us to go alone?"
"She lets us go about the village by ourselves, and sometimes we're
away hours. Oh, Jack, let's go alone! Fancy how jolly it would be!
We would play that we were in a foreign country, where no one but
savages had ever been before! Oh, it would be splendid!"
Jack agreed that it would. There was a charming novelty in the idea,
which was very alluring.
"If we told your mother where we were going, if she did not go
herself she might want to send Jane," Theodore continued; "and you
know how fussy Jane is. She wouldn't let us out of her sight; and we
couldn't pretend we were explorers if she was there. No, we won't
tell any one about the Hermit's Cave, and one of these days
we'll walk there by ourselves. Mind, Jack, it's a secret, and you'll
be a horrid sneak if you tell."
"Of course I won't, if you don't wish me to," Jack returned, a little
indignant at his stepbrother's tone. "You know I'm not a sneak. Only,
I don't feel sure that mother would like—"
"Oh, Jack, you talk like a baby!" Theodore interrupted crossly.
"Perhaps you're afraid to walk so far on the moors without some one
to look after you. Well, if you want a nurse, of course that puts
a stop to our planning any fun together. I shall go to the Hermit's
Cave alone; and if you tell your mother or any one else about it,
I'll never forgive you!"
"Oh, Theo, how can you be so nasty?" Jack cried, looking with
reproachful eyes at his stepbrother, whose face was flushed and
angry. "Do promise me you won't go alone!"
"Then will you go with me?" Theodore demanded.
"Yes, yes."
"Very well; and you promise not to mention the Hermit's Cave to
any one?"
"I promise."
"That's right. You're a brick, Jack!"
Jack shook his head. He was not very pleased with Theodore
for suggesting he wanted a nurse to look after him, and was therefore
disinclined to talk; so the short remaining distance to the farm was
walked in silence.
The boys found Mrs. Barton on the look-out for them; and in answer
to her question as to where they had been, they gave her an account
of their conversation with Seth Stanley, only abstaining from mention
of the Hermit's Cave.
"He is such a nice man," Theodore said in conclusion; "much nicer
than our blacksmith at home!"
"I should not allow either of you to have anything to do with him
if he was not," Mrs. Barton told them. "You know your father
disapproves of the Blakes—both father and son. I will ask him what he
thinks of this Seth Stanley, and hear what he has to say."
"I'm sure he's a good man, mother," Jack replied earnestly.
"I daresay he is, my dear. I think he must be, judging from what you
have said. I saw him standing in his doorway when I passed there the
other day, and I thought he looked an ideal village blacksmith."