Crowded Out o Crofield | Page 2

the shop.
He was probably the whitest man going into that or any other shop, and
he spoke out at once, very fast, but with a voice that sounded as if it
came through a bag of meal.

"Ogden," said he, "got him shod? If you have, I'll take him. What do
you say about that trade?"
"I don't want any more room than there is here," said the blacksmith,
"and I don't care to move my shop."
"There's nigh onto two acres, mebbe more, all along the creek from
below the mill to Deacon Hawkins's line, below the bridge," wheezed
the mealy, floury, dusty man, rapidly. "I'll get two hundred for it some
day, ground or no ground. Best place for a shop."
"This lot suits me," said the smith, hammering away. "'Twouldn't pay
me to move--not in these times."
The miller had more to say, while he unhitched his horse, but he led
him out without getting any more favorable reply about the trade.
"Come and blow, Jack," said the smith, and the boy in the door turned
promptly to take the handle of the bellows.
The little heap of charcoal and coke in the forge brightened and sent up
fiery tongues, as the great leathern lungs wheezed and sighed, and Jack
himself began to puff.
"I've got to have a bigger man than you are, for a blower and striker,"
said the smith. "He's coming Monday morning. It's time you were
doing something, Jack."
"Why, father," said Jack, as he ceased pulling on the bellows, and the
shoe came out of the fire, "I've been doing something ever since I was
twelve. Been working here since May, and lots o' times before that.
Learned the trade, too."
"You can make a nail, but you can't make a shoe," said his father, as he
sizzed the bit of bent iron in the water-tub and then threw it on the
ground. "Seven. That's all the shoes I'll make this morning, and there
are seven of you at home. Your mother can't spare Molly, but you'll
have to do something. It is Saturday, and you can go fishing, after

dinner, if you'd like to. There's nothin' to ketch 'round here, either.
Worst times there ever were in Crofield."
There was gloom as well as charcoal on the face of the blacksmith, but
Jack's expression was only respectfully serious as he walked away,
without speaking, and again stood in the door for a moment.
"I could catch something in the city. I know I could," he said, to
himself. "How on earth shall I get there?"
The bridge, at the lower end of the sloping side-street on which the
shop stood, was long and high. It was made to fit the road and was a
number of sizes too large for the stream of water rippling under it. The
side-street climbed about twenty rods the other way into what was
evidently the Main Street of Crofield. There was a tavern on one corner,
and across the street from that there was a drug store and in it was the
post-office. On the two opposite corners were shops, and all along
Main Street were all sorts of business establishments, sandwiched in
among the dwellings.
It was not yet noon, but Crofield had a sleepy look, as if all its work for
the whole week were done. Even the horses of the farmers' teams,
hitched in front of the stores, looked sleepy. Jack Ogden took his
longest look, this time, at a neat, white-painted frame-house across the
way.
"Seems to me there isn't nearly so much room in it as there used to be,"
he said to himself. "It's just packed and crowded. I'm going!"
He turned and walked on up toward Main Street, as if that were the best
thing he could do till dinner time. Not many minutes later, a girl plainly
but neatly dressed came slowly along in front of the village green, away
up Main Street. She was tall and slender, and her hair and eyes were as
dark as those of John Ogden, the blacksmith. Her nose was like his, too,
except that it was finer and not so high, and she wore very much the
same anxious, discontented look upon her face. She was walking
slowly, because she saw, coming toward her, a portly lady, with hair so
flaxy that no gray would show in it. She was elegantly dressed. She

stopped and smiled and looked very condescending.
"Good-morning, Mary Ogden," she said.
"Good-morning, Miss Glidden," said Mary, the anxious look in her
eyes changing to a gleam that made them seem very wide awake.
"It's a fine morning, Mary Ogden, but so very warm. Is your mother
well?"
"Very well, thank you," said Mary.
"And is your aunt well--and