The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1909-02-24

Whenever | rode with my father to
Leicester, and we passed the village
blacksmith shop, l always saw that
there were boys playing about 1t. They
carried on boisterous games OF tag
and I-spy about the building and ran
in and out of the wide door; they used
the carts and wagons in the yard for
Indian-beset stage-coaches and pirate
ships.
Once. when we stopped there for the
refastenng of old Bets shoe, struck
up a quick boy friendship with the
smiths own ten-year-old boy, a curly
haired youngster with wonderful
grin. Together we piled the horsetails
that kept off the flies while the shoe
was being set. And the smith him.
self, with his curly hair little griz-
zled and his grin tempered to Won
derful smile, let me pull the bellows
handle, and gave me horseshoe nails
and iron filings for my pocket magnet.
In our own village the boys never
went to the smithy unless sent on an
errand We never played in the yard
or brushed the flies or pulled the bel
lows handle. And we never by any
chance saw smile on the face Of the
smith or a grin on that Of his boy, un-
less IL might be one Of sullen triumph
at the successful outcome Of some con-
flict with us.
Michael Dufrene was the black
smiths name. | sometimes heard him
called a "Canuck" but he spoke with
no trace of the patois our other French
Canadians used. AS for that, he did
not often speak at all.
His hair was black and very straight,
his skin was swarthy, even for
smith, and he had high, rather prom
inert cheek-bones, which may have
shown strain of Indian ancestry
When, by accident, we learned OF this
possibility, it put us still more in ter
TOR of the morose, passionate man, and
made us the more vindictive toward his
son Joe.
Joe Dufrene was twelve, but he SEEM
ed older His strength, his bad temper,
his ingenuity in protecting himself
from our prosecutions and in taking
hearty revenge for them, all made him
appear more mature
AS it seemed to be tradition among
the boys that the surly, unfriendly
blacksmith was to be annoyed at all
hines, when 1t could be done safely
we added to 1T the practise OF making
trouble for the son'-when it could be
done safely
1t was a venturesome lad who dared
try conclusion alone with Joe, two
try conclusions alone with Joe, two
Dufrene was often called upon to face
three, or even more, boys, who would
all attack with the fierceness and un-
fairness of young savages. Fight he
would, even against overwhelming
odds, grimly, skilfully-and | can see
now--magniicently If conquered at
last, he made the victory costly one
Whether or not Joe ever carried the
tale of his battles to his father we did
not know. Probably we took it for
granted that he did. There was cer-
tSinly bond between them such as,
think, few other fathers and sons in
our town knew
Michael Dufrene had no friends; his
con had only enemies. But to each
other they we're devoted with the same
passion that emphasized their separa-
ton from the rest of the world
Archie Middleton and l, stealing up
one night to the little house where the
Oufrenes lived, next to the shop, with
the purpose of upsetting the freshly
rain-filled barrel, peered in through
the lighted window.
At the kitchen table Joe Dufrene
was at work with slate and arithmetic;
beside him sat his father, helping him
with the problems, and he sat with his
great arm across the boys shoulders.
We stood watching them for long
time, until finally some errand brought
tho smith to the door, and Archie and
fied-without upsetting the rain-water
barrel.
l had borne my share of the giving
and receiving of hard knocks in this
sport of batting the Dufrenes for sew
eral years when Tom Gallison's adven-
ture occurred.
Tom was about my own age, a bright,
hkable boy, who has grown into an
able, honest man. He was no better
and no worse than the rest of us-av-
erage American village boys. The only
thing that marked him out from the
crowd was his fertility Of resource in
emergencies, and his ingenuity in plot
ting new and original schemes of per-
secution. Nor did he lack the daring
to carry them out.
Michael Dufrene's shop stood at the
very brink of the little river that skirt
ed the village. On the rear of the
building, and actually overhanging the
water, was long and narrow platform,
where the smith kept great collec-
ton Of the odds and ends of his trade
old tubs, charcoal, kindling wood,
ashes, and heap of old iron. The
platform was a rickety affair. support
ed more OF less steadily by three