Charlotte messenger. [volume] (Charlotte, Mecklenburg Co., N.C.) 1882-18??, 1883-03-31

AOHS oluCc SOHo OlL Cuu DUOIS, WulCIl
had parted with their mates baskets
with no bottoms. ard numberless
straps, chains and bits of rope that
had long ago outlived their usefulness.
But Mr.. Rogers workbench baf-
fies all enumeration. 1t was covered
with deposit of from six to ten
inches in depth, from whose lower
stratum Mr.. Rogers would, from time,
bring up an awl or bit of wax.
1t was the old cobbler himself on
whom my eyes at last rested. In his
most upright days he could not have
been large man; but now the years
had settled heavily upon him, and he
had lost several inches of his youthful
height. His face was framed with a
thin white fringe Of beard, while
cheek and chin were rough with a
granite-colored stubble. There were
fine, netted wrinkles, but no deep fur
rows, in the old mans face, and on
each cheek a wintry bloom still lin
gered. His voice had the roughness
of nutmeg-grater, but now and then
glanced off from its usual key and end
ed in a sort of chirp.
"You never come to see me before,
did you? 1 am the J. Rogers out
there on the sign. You've heard of
John Rogers that was burnt at the
stake? Well, I'm another John Rog-
ers-not that one. 1 warn't never
quite so bad off as that. So you like
my shop, eh? I've got everything
handy, yer see. / haven't always
been so well off as this" he went on
in a tremulous chirp. "When my.
wife was alive. My wife was fine
woman, harnsum and pretty high
stepping when 1 married her, but
trouble brung her down; she never
took kindly to it. Her folks called me
shiftless. dunno; if shiftless means
working hard and getting little 'spose
l was. warn't one of the kind ter
worry, and she was. Eight children
there were, and every one that come
she was sorry it come; and then,
when one after another they died, all
but one, that was what killed her at
last. They was my children, too, and
well, Its given me something to
look forward to, seeing 'em up there,
yer see but my wife, she wasn't right
exactly in her mind, it's my belief,
after our troubles come. dunno's
anybody was to blame for 'em. There's
more trouble in this worl than I'm
able to account for, Pm free ter admit.
My wife, she took to her bed two
years before she died; and then | had
to learn new trade or two beside
shoemaking. l was hired gal and
most everything else. Imade pretty
bad mess of it. 1 don't deny it. Poor
Jim-he's our boy-run off; he couldn't
stand it. She died after awhile. She
was one of the Budsons. A harnsom
set of gals they were. 1t was heavy
day for me when buried her in her
grave. I've been alone since, but I've
had a great many mercies."
al thought you broke your leg last
winter, Mr.. Rogers" l said.
$50 did, but, on the whole, 1
ruther enjoyed it. 1 dunno when 1
ever lived so high or had so many
visits from my friends"
And so Mr.. Rogers talked on, look
ing sharply up at me now and then. as
if to assure himself that l was bet
ter listener than the cat.
Two days after went for the rest
of the shoes, and Mr.. Rogers seemed
so glad to see me that l was again
fattered into staying.
"Come, now, if you'll set down and
stay awhile, I'll tell yer story. Per-
haps you'd like to know now ! come
by them lions? Wal, I'll tell yer,
child, how twas"
Witha child's greed of stories, was
only too eager to listen.
" told him his show'd find it pretty
poor pickin's in this town." said Mr..
Rogers. in conclusion. I'D done its
cobbling for twenty years and more.
But he wasn't for listening TO me. and
so they went off, he and his menagerie,
all a-growling together"
Somehow, it appears that after all,
Mr.. Rogers was the hero OF this story;
and again it seemed that Mr.. Rogers
had played a prominent part in the de-
cline and fall Of Amos Belden's for
tunes; and again that Jonathan Wilder
would have done much better to listen
to Mr.. Rogers advice, and thus have
averted ruin and consequent auction
bills. 1t was a very artless egotism
not hard to account for. For years the
old man had lived alone, his own chief
counselor and friend. / do not Won
der that he grew little larger in his
own eyes than in other mems; that his
imagination, having nothing else to
do, built up the past till his memory