Hugh kept an eye about him, half hoping he might run across Thad, although the other had not expected to return before dusk.  No such luck befell him, and so Hugh concluded he must carry out his original scheme, and have only the child for company during his stroll.

Of course, they could not walk at a fast pace, and so it took quite a long time for them to draw near the place where the two roads crossed.  Here, at a point where there was much traffic in vehicles, the smithy of the old deacon stood.  Time was when he attended only to the shoeing of horses, and such other business as a blacksmith would find in his line.  The coming of the auto had made him change his work to some extent; so he kept a line of rubber tires and tubes in his shop, and was capable of doing all ordinary repairing, such as might be found necessary after a minor accident to a car on the road.

It was pleasant, indeed, when the wintry air was so keen, to step up to the open doors of the shop, and see that seething fire in the forge beyond the grim anvil.  Mr. Winslow stood there, with his leather apron on, and his woollen sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his brawny arms with their muscles of steel.  He was working the bellows and singing softly to himself, after a habit he had when alone.

Apparently, he had let his helper off earlier than customary that afternoon, for the deacon was not a hard employer, and ready to grant favors when business was not rushing.

Hugh stood there and took in the striking picture, with the glowing fire in the forge, that fine, big figure of the old blacksmith standing there.  The rosy light played on his strong features as he crooned his song, his thoughts possibly away back in the past, as is the habit of those who near the end of their life span.

Just then little Joey sneezed.  The low song of the deacon came to an abrupt end, as he turned his head and discovered the two figures in the open doorway.

He recognized Hugh immediately, and a look of genuine pleasure flashed across his face.

“Is that you, Hugh?” he called out, stopping work with the bellows; “and have you come out to take a bite with the old lady and myself?  I’m certainly glad to see you, lad.  And who might this fine little chap be?”

It was only natural that a man who loved all boys, little and big, as Deacon Winslow did, should drop down on one knee and take Joey in his arms.  When he looked into the little fellow’s winsome face he seemed strangely moved.  But then in these later days it was always so with the old man; never a child did he see but that long-hidden memories flowed again, and once more he seemed to be looking on his own boy, gone ages and ages ago.

“He and his mother are stopping at our house,” said Hugh, meaning to tell how he had come to find them in their extremity, later on, when possibly the child was not present to hear what he said.