The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1885-03-12
UNCLE STANTON"

Of his shop, rubbing his hands on a
leather apron. His face was stained
with the black dust of the forge, and
great beads of perspiration rolled down |
on his brow from under his confusion
of hair-hair so thick that I used to
wonder the possibility of comb. He
was short in stature. with small fea-
tured face and restless blue eyes. He
was bent by toll, and his careworn ex-
preston gave emphasis to a nervous
habit of twisting one corner of his
apron when he idled for a while. He
was shabby old man, but on a Sun
day Git was always called "the Sabbath
at the "Center') he would don a
threadbare suit of ill-fitting broadcloth
in which he was very i'll at ease.
Everybody about the Center-and for
that matter, everybody else for miles
away-knew him as "Uncle Stanton"
He was generally respected, and l
doubt if there. were any so well in
formed 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. Joe 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 Deacon Greene's vineyard.
The dear old Deacon! l can see him
now with his freckled 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 foothold, aud
work all through the hot summer days.
How often have 1 seen him with his
head bobbing above the green leaves,
and how often have 1 heard him ask
for the folks at home, with Goods
blessing upon them!'
Well, 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 emergency. "Ive
writ to Uncle Stanton, Marthy," he
said to his wife when he found himself
no longer able to rise. "He's sartin
sort of a man, and a good one to take
hold of the smithy. I never seed a
time when he missed the mark he
aimed at, and I've knowed him, Mar
thy, powerful long while. You see
we growed up together, he was on
common sharp, and likelier nine, but
I 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, creeky doors Of the shop once
more swung open, the smoke of the
forge was seen curling out of the tall
red chimney. and Uncle Stanton CRATE
fully welcomed his first customer.
We became acquainted easily enough.
My first visit at the shop was with
handsome 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 ex-
pressed in the glance of his noble,
bright eyes, as Uncle Stanton bent
down and critically examined his hoof,
Billy had great many friends, and l
believe it was never decided which was
the better animal, mine or the lean
dark bay which the aggressive Mr.
Mullens, the meat peddler, constantly
drove.
"They've had bad time over at the
Kirby's, l heard" Uncle Stanton said
to me, as he paused over shoe which
he was hammering into shape. 1.-TWO
funerals less'n week. 1 didn't Je-
lieve Rube would pull the second girl
through-he amt much on fevers'
not so much as young Hawkins. He
beat the world on fevers. Now, there
was Southworth's boy over at Pine
vile; t'want week before he was
up'n about, and that gave Jim asettin'
up. They ought to have had Jim, to
my thinkin'."
And so Uncle Stanton would rattle
on. The gossip of the village al
came to him somehow; he never for.
got what he heard, and very little
happened in the place that did not in
some shape or other reach Uncle
Stanton's ears. Concerning himself
however, he was strangely reticeut.
Sometimes l would stop at the shoI
'oor in the early evenings when tht
sun was setting back of the hills ant
hrowing its golden mellow on the
roofs of the farm houses and lingering
in the tree tops Uncle Stanton al
ways sat there smoking his pipe, anc
when he had no one TO talk to woult
| gaze off upon the road in dreamy 81