It was now past the middle of March. A copious rain was succeeded by a sharp frost, making excellent going on the river, and Richardson resolved to improve it; the only drawback being that the river was one glare of ice, and his oxen had lost many of their shoes. He had saved part of the shoes, borrowed some more of John Bradford, and could have put them on himself, as Moody Matthews had a shoeing-hammer, but there were no nails in the neighborhood.

Richardson, however, knew that by taking time and by careful driving, he could get the cattle to the village, and determined to carry the shoes with him, and hire Drew to sharpen and nail them on. He put on the sled half a cord of hemlock bark, his own grist, the butter, cloth, and yarn, together with some corn and grain for his neighbors.

About eight o'clock in the evening his wife went to bed; but William made up a warm fire in the stone fireplace, fed the cattle, and lay[Pg 52] down before it. At twelve o'clock he went out, fed the cattle again, and called his wife, who got his breakfast, and he set out. He carried in a basket doughnuts, baked beans, cold boiled pork, Indian bread, and butter, and a jug of coffee, also hay for the oxen. His plan was to stop for the night at Hanson's, who put up teams, paying fifty cents a night for barn-room for the cattle and a bed for himself, Hanson's wife warming his beans, and making tea or coffee for him, as the coffee he carried was to drink on the road. This expense was paid by the neighbors whose errands he did.

At his arrival, he found John Drew, who before had always received him very cordially, in a most surly humor. He was making axes. Tom Breslaw, an apprentice, nearly out of his time, was striking, and blowing the bellows. Barely nodding, in response to the greeting of Richardson, he took an axe, into which he had stuck the steel, from the fire, flung it savagely on the anvil, crying to Tom, "Strike!" and after the heat put it in the fire again, taking not the least notice of Richardson, but giving all his attention to his iron. Finding he was not noticed, and at a loss to know what this strange conduct of the smith meant, he at length said, "Mr. Drew, can you put a few shoes on my oxen?"

"No, I can't. I've got this axe and another one to make for a man that's waitin' for 'em."

[Pg 53]

"Perhaps you could do it in the morning. I shall be obliged to stay all night to get my grist ground. It would be a great accommodation to me if you could. I had hard work to get the cattle here, and if I am obliged to drive them home as they are, I shall lame them."

"Can't do it, I tell you, and that's the long and short of it."

"Perhaps you could make some nails, lend me a shoeing-hammer, and I would try and nail them on myself. If you don't, I am sure I don't know what I shall do. I had hard work to get the cattle here with no load of any amount. I must haul more back, and I don't know how I can get home."

"And I don't care how you get home, Bill Richardson; nor whether you get home at all. Here I've slaved myself for years, going up to your place through the woods on snow-shoes once or twice every winter, and hauling my tools and shoes on a hand-sled, leaving work here in the shop just to accommodate you folks up there, and took my pay in white beans and all sorts of trash, when I left cash jobs at home and lost 'em; and here you come smelling round, and palavering, as though butter wouldn't melt in your mouth; watch and sneak round, and steal the trade, and then go back, cut off my custom, and take the bread right out of my mouth. Now I've got you where the hair is[Pg 54] short. You may shoe your own cattle, you're such a great smith. I won't make you a shoe, nail, lend you a tool, or obleege you in any way, name, or natur'. Strike, Tom Breslaw—what are you gaping at?"

Waiting patiently till the din of blows had subsided, and the iron was returned to the fire, Richardson replied,—

"As for stealing your trade, Mr. Drew, and coming here for the purpose, it is certainly a mistake of yours. I never thought of trying to work a piece of iron till the last time I was here, when the thought came into my mind. You surely can't think it strange, when you know what great labor and expense it is for myself and neighbors to come here, that we should try to do somewhat for ourselves. You would do the same were you in our place. If you complain so bitterly of coming to our place twice a year, what do you think it must be for us to come to you all the time? You must remember, also, that at those times you charged a corresponding price, that was cheerfully paid. I can't well see how you could lose any work by going, as there is no other smith anywhere round, and you must have found the work waiting when you came back. I have never been reputed a thief among my neighbors, or made a practice of stealing. I did wish to obtain some information of you, before I went home, about[Pg 55] working and tempering steel, but expected to pay for it. As for taking bread out of your mouth, you have all the work you can do right here, without doing a stroke of work for us."

"Well, all the knowledge you'll worm out of me you may put in your eye, for you won't get any."

"I don't expect, or even desire to, after what has passed between us; but, as I have given you full opportunity to free your mind, and express your opinion of me, any more talk of that kind before my face or behind my back will be at your own risk. I suppose you understand me."

Drew hung his head, and made no reply; for, though a patient and good-natured man, William Richardson was by no means a safe person to provoke.

It was now the dinner hour, and as Richardson left the shop he was followed by Breslaw, who said,—

"Mr. Richardson, where are you going?"

"First, Tom, to your father's, with this bark. He is tanning a couple of hides for me, and told me he would take part of his pay in bark. I was going to buy some iron and steel at the store; but I shall have to give that up; for, as Drew won't shoe my cattle, I shan't be able to haul one pound more than my grist."

"He's a mean wretch, and I don't see how you kept your hands off him. But he's been [Pg 56]drinking; that's part of it. Give me your shoes. I'll run into Aunt Sarah's, and get my dinner; it won't take me so long as to go home; and before Drew gets back I'll fit the shoes and make the nails, and this evening we will put them on. Most of the shoes have been on the cattle before. I'll fit the others by them, and if there's any of them too far gone to sharpen, I'll make new ones."

"But where will you get iron? Shan't I run to the store and get some?"

"I keep a little of my own, and do small jobs out of shop time. Any little scraps will do for that."

Richardson hauled his bark to the tan-yard, and Breslaw's father invited him to stop to dinner. As he was passing Drew's shop on his return, Tom came out.

"I've made the shoes and nails, Mr. Richardson; and I'll tell you what I've been thinking of. I suppose money is none too plenty with you."

"You may well say that, Tom; for I'm paying for my land, and every cent counts."

"Well, now, you can, while you are waiting for your grist, go round the village, and pick up old iron, and perhaps some steel, that won't cost you one quarter what it would to buy new at the store, and be just as good, and better, for your use, as it will be smaller, and save [Pg 57]hammering. Only look out that it is not too rusty. Perhaps you remember Bosworth, the stone-mason."

"Very well. He made the stones in the grist-mill, and built the piers of the great bridge."

"He died this last winter, and his widow has his drills and other tools, and wants to sell 'em. The drills are all steel, and the best of steel, too; and I've no doubt you could buy 'em for half what the same amount of steel would cost you at the store, and perhaps for even less."

In accordance with this advice, Richardson went to the place, and bought four hand-drills, a foot or more in length, used for splitting stone, and two dozen steel wedges. The latter, he thought, would, at some future time, serve to make toe-calks for horse-shoes. The purchase that delighted him most of all, however, was a churn-drill. This was four feet in length; but only four inches of each end was steel, being much worn, the remainder iron, shaped like the stalk of a seed onion, with a bulb of iron in the middle, three inches in diameter. He also bought a light stone-hammer. This was likewise a great acquisition, as it would serve the purpose of a sledge. Clem could now strike with it for a short time, and would, in a few months, be able to handle it easily; for he was large of his age, and muscular. He could likewise get one of his neighbors to strike, upon an emergency. Pursuing his search, he found several old axes,[Pg 58] beetle-rings, three mill-files, the handle of a kitchen shovel, one leg of a pair of kitchen tongs, and an old crane (the latter was a large piece of iron), and some old ox-shoes. At the mill he obtained some of the mill-stone picks that had become too short for use.

Just as he had finished his supper that night, Tom made his appearance at Hanson's with the shoes, nails, and his tools. A rope was procured, and the oxen were cast on the barn floor. Richardson held a candle, stuck into a potato, while Hanson assisted Tom. The latter put on the new shoes, clinched up all the old ones that were loose, and, with a smith's large file, sharpened the dull calks.

He not only refused to take any pay for his work, avowing that Jack Drew was hog enough for one small place, but, sitting down before the fire with Richardson, gave him a great deal of valuable information respecting working iron.

In the morning Richardson rose early, and prepared to start. After paying his expenses at Hanson's, he was able to buy considerable iron at the store, and still had a little money left. The wind was north-west, a bright sun, the ice smooth and hard, and the cattle, sharpshod, were able to travel. Thoroughly rested, and eager to get home, they seemed to regard the load no more than though it had been feathers. Snorting with eagerness, proud of their new shoes,[Pg 59] and perhaps elated with the idea of having been to the village, they could at first scarcely be kept from breaking into a run.

Was not Will Richardson a happy man that bright, sunny morning! The keen air braced his limbs, and his heart throbbed with joy. Things had turned out so much better than he anticipated. He feasted his eyes upon the iron and steel—the great bar, the nail rods—he had bought at the store, or rather the thin bar he had purchased to be split into nail rods; for at that day iron did not come from the forges in shapes to suit the smiths, but in large bars, and there was a vast deal of work to be done with the sledge and hammer.

Never did a boy gloat over a ripe plum as did Will Richardson over the great bunch of iron in the middle of that churn-drill. He couldn't keep his eyes off of it, and had already decided in his own mind what use he would make of it.

Thanks to the noble spirit of Tom Breslaw, the cattle travelled so fast that he arrived home long before his wife expected him. The children had come half starved—as children always do in the country—from school, and were screaming, "Do, mother, give me something to eat."

"I'll give you a luncheon, because you'll want to eat with your father when he comes, and you'll want to tie up the cattle, and get the[Pg 60] night's wood in, and a turn of water, so you can have time to see him."

This being assented to by Young America, the mother, taking half of a loaf of rye-and-Indian bread, began to spread butter on the loaf, and then cut off and distribute huge slices to the hungry expectants. She had cut off the last slice when the sound of Richardson's voice, shouting to the oxen, came through the half-open door.

"Father—father's come!" screamed the children; and, followed by their mother, they ran to the river. Down the slope they rushed, pell-mell, and, just as the cattle put their fore feet on the edge of the bank, and taking advantage of a momentary pause occasioned by the steepness of the grade, piled on to the sled, the two girls holding on to their father's legs, who, standing on the hinder end of the sled, and holding by one hand to a stake, with the other waved his hat to his wife, shouting, "O, Sue, the best of luck! 'Lashings' of iron and steel; and I've brought back the fulled cloth, and the stuff for your and the children's clothes, and money—only think of it, wife, brought money home with me! You can have your tongs, and your andirons, and I can have all the tools I want? and won't we go ahead?"

His wife was too full to speak; but happiness beamed from every feature, as standing half-leg[Pg 61] deep in the snow, she drank in the words of her husband, who, taking her in his arms, seated her upon a bag of meal, and, while the cattle went on, narrated the incidents of his journey, the surliness of Drew, and how nobly it was offset by the generous conduct of Breslaw.

"Ain't it glorious, wife? I tell you what it is, Sue, it's better to be born lucky than rich."

To which we might add, that it is better to be born with brains and energy than rich; for the riches may be lost; but the former are an enduring possession, and when under the control of virtuous principles, a source of unfailing happiness and self-respect.

William Richardson was by no means a talkative man. On the contrary he was by nature reserved and thoughtful. But now his tongue ran like a mill-clapper, and ceased not till the cattle stopped of their own accord before the door.

In the meanwhile his wife remained, listening to the excited narration of her husband, in a sort of silent rapture; but when, after the oxen stopped, he began to show her the iron, and expatiate, saying, "Only see this churn-drill, wife; both ends steel; and what a great bunch of iron in the middle—Swedish iron, too; and three picks, and drills, and wedges—all steel; and that crane—see what a great junk of iron that is!—didn't cost me much of anything,[Pg 62] either; and that big bar, to make axes; and the thin iron for horse and ox shoes, and nail-rods;"—I say, as he thus ran on, showing and explaining the value of one piece of iron after another, tears of joy ran down the cheeks of the faithful wife, and after that she found her tongue.

Now you needn't laugh, boys, and say, "What a fuss over a little old iron!" It was worth a great deal more to that family than though it had been so much gold; and you needn't say, "O, what a whopper!" Just see if it don't come out so before we have done with the Richardsons. That amount of gold might, and probably would, have ruined them; but on every grain of that rusty metal were written encouragement, inspiration, opportunity; and God Almighty had given to William Richardson the ability to read for himself and his neighbors what was written on those iron leaves.

"Father," cried Clem, seizing the stone-hammer, "what is this awful great hammer for?"

"For you, my son, to help me draw these great bars of iron with—at any rate, by and by, if you can't handle it now."

"I can swing it now, father, just like anything. See here"—swinging it over his head, and bringing it down with considerable force on the iron.