The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-03-07
JUNGLE STANTON"
lneshler Welch. iD New York Grapl

,Deshler Welch. in New York Graphical The first time l saw Uncle Stanton he was standing at the open doorway of his shop. rubbing his hands on a leather anron. His face was stained with the hiack dust of the forge, and great beads of neyspiration rolled down on his brow from under his confusion of hair-hair so thick that used to wonder the possibil- ;tv of a comb. He was short in stature, vith a small featured face and restless blue eyes. He was bent by toil, and his careworn expression gave emphasis to a nervous habit of twisting one corner of his apron when he idled for a while. He was a shabby old man, but on Sunday f;t was always called "the Sabbath" at inc Center ? he would don thread hare suit of ill-fitting broadcloth in which be was very ill at ease. Everybody about inc Center-and for that matter, every body else for miles away-knew him as Uncle Stanton" He was generally re- spected, and doubt if there were any so well informed in the rise and decline of the old place. Yet he had not always lived in the Center. Years ago when Joe Wheeler died, there appeared to be no one at hand to take his place at the forge. Toe had built the shop in the early days when the Center promised to be much more than the pivot whose radius was then marked by Kirby Run and Dea con Creene's vineyard. The dear old deacon I Can sse him HOW with his feckied face, and hair as red as the autumn color of the leaves which used to fall from the big maple tree in front of my old home The vineyard was on the side of the hill, steep enough to free it from stones and brush, yet not so steep but the deacon could keep his t,othold, and work all through the hot summer days. How often have l seen him with his head bobbing above the green leaves, and how often have heard him ask for the folks at home, with Gods blessing upon theml'
 We'll, Joe had mended the wagons and the ploughs, shod the horses and been considered "pretty handy" for many years, but it did not occur to one that a time would come when Joe's tools would lie idle for the want of his hands to use them. Joe had provided for this emer- gency. "D've writ to U icle Stanton, Marhy," he said to hls wife when he found himself no longer able to rise. He's a sartin sort of man, and good one to take hold of the smi,hy. never seed time when he missed the mark he aimed at, and I've knowed him, Marthy, a powerful long while. You see we growed up together, he was uncommon sharp, and hkelier 'nme, but got the start somehow and went away, and Stanton's been trudging along the same old rut."
 So it came about that four days after Joe Wheeler had been put in the little yard back of the Methodist church whose steeple covered with rusty tin marked the Center for many miles, the big, creaky doors of the shop ence more swung open, the smoke of the forge was seen curling out of the tall red chimney, and Uncle Stanton gratefully welcomed his first customer.
 We became acquainted easily enough. My first visit at the shop was with hand some gray Billy, who had cast a shoe. can recall even now the noise of his hoofs as they clattered over the oaken floor, and the wonderment expressed in the glance of his noble. bright eyes, as Uncle Stanton bent down and critically examined his hoof. Billy had a great many friends, and l believe it was never decided which was the better animal, mine or the lean dark bay which the ag- gressive MT. Mullins, the meat peddler, constantly drove.
 They've had a bad time over at the Kirby's heard" Uncle Stanton said to me, as he paused over a shoe which he was hammering into shape. "Two funerals less'n a week. didn't believe Rube would pull the second girl through he ain't much on levers, not so much as young Hawkins. He beat the world on fevers. Now, there was Southworth's s boy over at Pineville, t'want week be- fore he was up n about, and that gave Jim settin' up: They ought to have had Jim, to my thinkin'."
 The gossip of the village all came to him somehow he never forgot what he heard, and very little happened in the place that did not in some shape or other reach Uncle Stanton's ears. Concerning him. self, however, he was strangely reticent.
 Sometimes l would stop at the shop door in the early evenings when the sun was setting back of the hills and throwing its golden mellow on the roofs of the farm houses and lingering in the tree tops. Uncle Stanton always sat there smoking his pipe, and when he had no one to talk to would gaze of upon the road in dreamy silence. He always had cheery sort of welcome for me, and used to think that he was freer with me than any one else. Perhaps it was be- cause was very young.
 One day-it was year or more after l had made Uncle Stanton's acquaintance he said to me suddenly, Davy, my boy, the world isn't so very big. and the people in it often run amuck when they don't calkeriate.n
 We were lounging at the doorway, and Uncle Stanton was seated on the raised floor with his back against the easement, pressing down the tobacco in his pipe with the end of his stubby finger.
 "What is it, uncle ?" Iqueried. There seemed to be something on his mind, and l fancied he wanted to talk to me