Chapter 7 TURNING A PAGE OF THE PAST

"Do you know," mused Thad, as they continued on their way to town, "the more I see of that blacksmith the better I like him. In my opinion, he's a grand old man."

"I was just going to say that myself," Hugh told him. "He makes me think of the priest in the story. And they say he loves boys-all boys."

"You can't make him believe there's a boy living but who has something worth while in him," Thad advanced. "Sometimes it's hid under a whole lot of trash, as Deacon Winslow calls it, and you've got to search a heap before you strike gold; but if you only persist you'll be rewarded."

"His actions with regard to Nick prove that he practices what he preaches, too," said Hugh.

"Well, the old man went through a bitter experience many years ago," Thad went on to say; "and he learned his lesson for life, he often says."

"Why, how's that, Thad? I've heard a great many things about different people since we came to Scranton; but I don't remember listening to what happened to the old deacon long ago."

"Is that a fact, Hugh? Well, I'll have to tell you about it, then. Once upon a time they had a boy, an only child; and, as happens in some families where the parents are the finest kind of Christian people, young Joel had a bad streak in his make-up. Oh! they say he gave his father no end of trouble from time to time. And it wound up in a row, with the boy doing something disgraceful, and running away from home, nearly breaking his mother's heart."

"Didn't he ever come bad again?" asked the interested listener.

Thad shook his head in the negative.

"They never looked on his face again, either living or dead," he said. "Worse than that, they never even heard from him. It was as if Joel had dropped out of sight that night when he left a line to his mother saying he was going west to where they raised men, not sissies. And so the years rolled around, and, they say, the old lady even now sits looking into the sunset skies, dreaming that her Joel, just as she remembered him, had sent word he was coming back to visit them in their old age, and to ask forgiveness for his wrong-doing."

Hugh was greatly moved by the sad tale, which, however, he knew could be easily matched in every town of any size in the country; for it is of common occurrence, with a multitude of sore hearts turning toward that Great West.

"That must have been how long ago, Thad?" he asked presently.

"Let me see, I should think all of forty years; perhaps forty-five would be closer to the mark, Hugh."

"How sad," mused the other lad, with a shake of his head; "and to think of that poor old lady, an invalid, you said, and confined to a wheelchair, watching the sinking sun faithfully each evening as it sets, still yearning for her boy to come back. It is a dream that has become a part of her very existence. Why, even if young Joel had lived he would now be over sixty years of age, but she never thinks of him that way. The deacon, they say, is eighty-five, though you'd never believe it to see his brawny muscles and healthy complexion."

"You see," continued Thad, anxious that his chum should know everything connected with the subject, now he was upon it, "the old man often takes himself to task because he didn't understand boys as he might have done, when younger. He believes he could have spared his wife her great sorrow if he had only been more judicious, and won the boy's confidence as well as his affection."

"And that accounts for the deep interest he has felt in all boys ever since," Hugh was saying reflectively; "especially those who seem to have a streak of badness in them."

"I suppose," Thad remarked, "it is his way of doing penance for what he considers a fault of his earlier years. Sometimes I think I'd just like to be able to follow up that chap when he ran away from home, and learn what really did become of him."

"He may have met with a sad fate out West, Thad; plenty of fellows have gone out and been swallowed up in the whirlpool."

"If, on the other end, he didn't, and lived for many years," continued the other, "he must have been pretty tough not to write to his poor old mother at least once in a while. I could never forgive Joel for that. But they say he had an ugly nature, and was very stubborn. Well, I'm glad the deacon has taken an interest in the reformation of Nick Lang, even if I have my doubts about his meeting with any sort of success."

"Well, you may be a whole lot surprised one of these fine days, my boy," Hugh smilingly told him.

"The age of miracles has passed, Hugh," remarked Thad skeptically.

"Not the miracles that are brought about by a complete change of heart on the part of someone the world looks down on as a scamp," Hugh persisted. "But you're one of those who want to be shown; I reckon, Thad, your folks must have come from Missouri, didn't they?"

"Wrong again, Hugh, because none of them ever saw the Mississippi, though my grandfather fought through the Civil War, and was with Grant when Lee surrendered at Appomattox Court House. But I admit I am a little stubborn, and prejudiced. It runs in the blood, I suppose. The Stevens were always sort of pig-headed."

"I've also heard considerable about the deacon as a weather seer, Thad; how about that? Does he manage to hit it off occasionally, so as to equal our forecaster at Washington, whose predictions come true every now and then?"

"Oh! the deacon has made that quite a fad," he was told by the obliging Thad. "He doesn't confine himself to figuring out just what sort of day we'll have to-morrow, or even for the coming week. He looks ahead, and finds out from the signs of Nature what sort of winter or summer we're going to have next,-cold, mild, hot, cool, dry or rainy. And say, I've heard he hits it nearly every time."

"Well, what did he say about this particular winter?" Hugh asked, with renewed interest; for such subjects always gripped his attention, because he believed some of these shrewd countrymen, who watched the weather and observed what was going on all around them, could tell better than any scientific gentleman what was liable to come along during the succeeding seasons.

"He predicted a severe winter," replied Thad promptly. "Some people laughed at what he said, especially when Christmas came and went, and so far we'd had precious little of cold. But it's come along at last, and from all reports some of the most dreadful weather ever known is happening away out in the Northwest right now."

"And how does the old blacksmith get his ideas-from Nature, you said, I believe, Thad?"

"He studies the bark on the trees; the way the squirrels store the nuts away; and how the caterpillars weave their cocoons. Oh! he has a hundred different signs that he depends on before making up his mind. I used to laugh when I heard him talking about it, but since I've grown older I've decided that there may be a whole lot in that sort of weather prediction."

"I incline that same way," agreed Hugh. "Many of the little animals of the woods are given a wonderful instinct that enables them to know what to expect. Even bees that always lay by a certain amount of honey for winter use, are said to stock up extra heavy on years when a severe winter comes along. It must be a mighty interesting study, I should think. Some time I mean to know the old deacon better, so as to get posted on his vast store of knowledge along those lines."

"His wife is rather feeble now," continued Thad. "She's a fine old lady though, and as cheery as can be, considering all things."

"But if, as you said, she has to move around in one of those self-propelling wheel-chairs, how does she ever get her house-work done, Thad?"

"Oh! they have a girl in during the daytime," came the explanation; "though Mrs. Winslow still mixes all the cakes and bread. And, say, she does make the greatest crullers you ever tasted in your born days. I know, because that couple are always sending things out to houses where there are growing boys. Their world lies in boys only; you never hear either of them say a thing about girls."

Hugh could easily understand that. He had been in numerous homes where there were only boys in the family; and the parents knew next to nothing about the delight and constant anxiety of girls.

"As I like crullers about the best of any sort of cakes," he chuckled, "I think I'll have to cultivate the acquaintance of Mrs. Winslow. Some time I may have the pleasure of tasting her famous cooking that you rate so highly. But to turn to another subject, Thad, have you heard any more reports about those Keyport High fellows we expect to go up against next Saturday?"

"Yes, I have, Hugh. Podge Huggins was over there two days back. He saw them practicing on some thin ice over a pond, and he told, me they were an exceptionally husky proposition. He also saw us work yesterday afternoon in the scratch game, and when I asked him how we compared with Keyport, why Podge wouldn't give me a straight answer; but only grinned and turned the subject."

"Evidently then Podge doesn't have the confidence in his school team that he ought to feel," said Hugh, apparently not at all disturbed. "Well, we have a whole week still for practice, and ought to keep on improving. I'm hoping that Keyport may overdo it, which is always possible."

"You mean too much work will cause them to go stale; is that it,

Hugh?"

"Physical directors and coaches are always on their guard against that, Thad. The boat team is always strongest at a certain point. If the race comes off when they attain that top-notch pinnacle, they're apt to do their very best; but should it be delayed, by weather or something else, the coach becomes alarmed, because he knows there's a great chance of their losing speed from too much nervous tension and overwork."

From which talk it was evident that Hugh must have imbibed considerable valuable knowledge from Mr. Leonard, who, as a college man, ought to understand a thing or two concerning sporting matters.

So the two chums continued to talk all the way back to town. Hugh had picked up a whole lot of information by making the journey out to the cross-roads. Somehow he seemed to feel drawn toward the old blacksmith, who seemed to be such a sterling character.

Hugh had met him in church circles and at sociables, but, not knowing the tragedy that lay back in the deacon's younger life, he had so far failed to cultivate his acquaintance. But he was now determined to see more of Deacon Winslow, for he believed the weather prophet would be able to tell him a host of interesting things about Nature's storehouse, from which he had gleaned astonishing facts during many years' study.