Chapter XIII: The Village Blacksmith

MR. BARTON spent the greater part of his time in fishing in the river Dart. He was a keen sportsman, and often passed long, solitary days engaged in his favourite recreation; sometimes, however, he took the boys with him. They thoroughly enjoyed the novelty at first, but after a while they found it slow work watching Mr. Barton flogging the stream, and found amusements which suited them better.

One of the first acquaintances they made at Naraton was Seth Stanley, the village blacksmith. He was a dark, stern-visaged man of middle age, with a very tender heart beneath a rough exterior. The first occasion on which he and the boys met, was when the latter accompanied Mr. Fry to the blacksmith's shop in order to see Boxer, the farmer's favourite horse, shod.

Boxer was a sort of general factotum, if such a term may be applied to a horse. It was his duty to perform odd jobs upon the farm, and make himself generally useful. Mr. Fry drove him to a neighbouring market town every week in a roomy, old-fashioned gig, and often he carried the farmer many miles to fetch a flock of sheep, or a herd of cattle. He was really an invaluable animal, for when required he did not disdain to do a little ploughing, or draw a cart. The boys were greatly surprised when they learnt that Boxer was sixteen years old, for he had plenty of spirit yet; and having always been well fed and carefully tended, did not look his age. Mr. Fry had owned him since he had been a colt, and looked upon him in the light of an old friend.

After Boxer had been carefully fitted with new shoes, the farmer led him off, whilst the boys still lingered outside the blacksmith's shop. Seth Stanley invited them to sit down on a long stool which was placed inside the doorway. He kept the stool there on purpose for his visitors, for he dearly loved to get some of the villagers in to talk with him. A very kindly gossip was Seth Stanley, and a most fascinating place was his shop, with its immense fire and steaming forge.

Theodore and Jack accepted the invitation to "step inside and sit down for a few minutes," with alacrity, watching the blacksmith in his leathern apron with admiring eyes whilst he took a bar of iron from the fire, and sent the sparks flying upwards as he placed it on the anvil and beat it with his hammer.

"Oh, Theo," whispered Jack, "isn't he strong? Wouldn't you like to be a blacksmith? I should!"

Theodore nodded. Presently Seth Stanley turned his attention to his young visitors. "Well," he said, as he stood before them in his shirt sleeves with his arms crossed, "what do you think of my trade? Eh?"

He spoke with but a touch of the moorland dialect, in a voice which was singularly mellow and deep.

"I think it's a very nice trade," Theodore replied, politely; "my stepbrother was just asking me if I wouldn't like to be a blacksmith."

Seth Stanley glanced at Jack's pale face and slight form, a smile crossing his own countenance the while.

"I am stronger than I look," Jack said quickly. "I am not delicate like I used to be. Am I, Theo?"

"He used to have a bad back," Theodore explained, "but it's quite well now. He gets tired quicker than I do, but the doctors say he will grow stronger by-and-bye."

"Ah! the fine moorland air will put fresh life into him," the blacksmith declared. "So you are stepbrothers, I hear?"

The boys nodded.

"Which of you is Mr. Barton's son?"

"I am. Have you any children, Mr. Stanley?" Theodore asked, with polite interest, thinking he was justified in putting a question in his turn.

"No, sir; I never married. You may call me Seth, if you please— most folks do. No, I've neither chick nor child belonging to me. I've a brother, but he and his family stick to their caravan."

"Stick to their caravan!" the boys echoed in astonishment.

"I come from gipsy stock. Stanley's a gipsy name," the blacksmith informed them. "I was born in a tent under the shelter of one of the Tors, and I've always had a kind of affection for Dartmoor on that account. Here's my native air, young gentlemen, and it's never too keen for me even in the sharpest weather. Ah, you look surprised to think I'm a gipsy! Perhaps you've been taught to despise the wandering race?"

"No, no!" Theodore cried hastily, "you mustn't think that."

"No, indeed," Jack added earnestly, "mother wouldn't teach us to despise anyone; that is, she always says so long as people are good, nothing else matters much."

"Your mother's quite right," was the hearty response. "But there's a lot of prejudice against gipsies, and perhaps it's not to be wondered at. When I was your age I expect it would have been difficult to find a more hardened young wretch for lying and stealing than I was! Often and often I've wondered I never came to be a gaolbird; but God spoke to me in time!"

"How did God speak to you?" Theodore asked, with great curiosity; then, fearing his question might be deemed impertinent, he added, deprecatingly, "please don't tell us if you would rather not."

"I don't mind your knowing," the blacksmith returned readily, "in fact it's a tale I'm rather partial to telling to show the loving kindness of Almighty God. It was this way. My mother died when I was a little chap, younger than either of you, and after she was gone, my father travelled the country with me and my brother, doing a trade in horse dealing. Father wasn't a bad sort at heart, but during one winter, which we spent near a big town in the north of England, he became mixed up with a shady lot of people, and they got the best of him, and made him the scapegoat for them all. It was a case of burglary, and my father was taken by the police. He might have got off easy if he'd have told who his accomplices were. But no, he wasn't one of that sort! So he got five years' penal servitude, and was sent to Princetown Prison. Have you ever seen the prison, young gentlemen?"

"No," they answered, their eager faces expressing their interest in his story.

"Ah! you can't think what it feels to a gipsy to be a prisoner. It killed my father; he couldn't stand it. My brother and I found our way to Princetown, and got hold of the prison chaplain, who promised he'd try to get us an interview with father because he was ill, and not likely to recover. Well, we saw him, and he was dying—poor old father!" The blacksmith passed the back of his hand across his eyes, and continued, "He could just speak. 'Seth,' he said to me, 'I'm dying, but I'm not afraid. Him as was born in a stable, and was the Friend of sinners and outcasts like us—He's going along with me. Promise you'll find Him too.' Well, I promised, and poor father died. Afterwards my brother and I went away, and earned our livings as best we could. My promise to father didn't trouble me much; I'd only given it to satisfy him, you see. But, some years afterwards, I fell sick, and was taken to a hospital, and there they told me of that same Lord Jesus, the Friend of sinners and outcasts, poor father had wanted me to find; and I learnt I hadn't far to go to seek Him because He was everywhere."

"Well?" questioned Jack eagerly, his eyes shining with a brilliant light, his usually pale cheeks flushed.

"Well, sir, I found Him, and I've tried to live an honest life ever since. I'd learnt to be a blacksmith, and as there wasn't one in Naraton, I came and started business here, and I've done well."

"How mother would like to hear your story!" Jack exclaimed. "Would you mind if I told her?"

"Not at all, sir. It always seems very wonderful to me, because good came out of evil. If father hadn't been sent to prison he might never have found the Lord Jesus. I've told the tale to many, and mayhaps it's been a lesson to some."

There was a short silence, which Theodore broke by asking:

"Didn't you say your brother lived in a caravan?"

"Yes, sir. He's a married man with a troop of youngsters. Sometimes in the summer they find their way here, and glad enough I am to see them. Farmer Fry allows them to encamp in one of his fields, and they can have as much milk as they like from the farm, and Mrs. Fry knows her poultry's safe though there are gipsies upon the estate."

"It must be fun living in a caravan," Theodore said with enthusiasm. "I think I should like to be a gipsy."

Seth Stanley shook his head, laughing at the idea.

"Or I should like to be a great traveller, or an explorer," Theodore proceeded, "and have wonderful adventures."

"I suppose you've explored the places around here?" the blacksmith said enquiringly.

"We've been for several long walks with mother and Jane," Jack answered, "and father takes us fishing with him sometimes."

"Have you never been to the Hermit's Cave?"

"No!" Theodore replied quickly. "Where is it? What is it? Is it far?"

Seth Stanley went to the doorway of his shop, the boys following, and pointed to the range of hills which stretched before their eyes in the distance, bathed in the bright spring sunshine.

"Do you see that Tor, the highest of the lot, the one with a mass of granite rocks near the top?"

"Yes!" the boys responded eagerly. "Is the Hermit's Cave there?"

"Nearly at the highest point of the hill on the north side. Folks can't decide whether Nature or man formed the cave. 'Tis made of granite, as though hewn out of the rock; and many years ago there was a great granite boulder in front of the opening, but that was rolled away long since. 'Tis said a hermit lived and died there; and, as in the case of Moses, no one but God knows where he was buried, but I can't vouch whether that's true or not."

"What is a hermit?" Theodore questioned.

"Oh, Theo, don't you know?" Jack cried. "There are no hermits now-a-days, at least I don't think there are, but they used to be very holy men, who lived alone, and spent their lives in prayer. I suppose they were very good," he added doubtfully, "but it seems rather a silly idea to live away from everyone else, doesn't it?"

"So it does, sir," the blacksmith agreed, "but I've heard tell those old hermits were a great deal thought of in their time, and I suppose they fancied they were doing right. Perhaps they did the best they knew, and if so, they couldn't do more, as God will remember at the Judgment Day."

"I think we ought to be going now," Jack remarked regretfully, "or mother will wonder where we are. May we come to see you again?"

"I shall be very pleased to see both of you whenever you honour me with a visit," Seth Stanley responded heartily, a pleasant smile brightening his dark countenance. "Good morning to you, young gentlemen!"

"Good morning!" shouted the boys as they ran across the green, looking back and waving their hands to their new friend, who stood watching them till they turned down the road which led to Blackburn Farm.

"Jack," said Theodore, as out of breath they slackened their pace, "wouldn't you like to see the Hermit's Cave?"

"Indeed I should! Shall we ask mother to take us there one day?" Jack suggested.

"No, no!" Theodore cried hastily. "It would be much nicer if we went by ourselves, then we could pretend we were explorers, don't you see?"

"Yes; but do you think mother would allow us to go alone?"

"She lets us go about the village by ourselves, and sometimes we're away hours. Oh, Jack, let's go alone! Fancy how jolly it would be! We would play that we were in a foreign country, where no one but savages had ever been before! Oh, it would be splendid!"

Jack agreed that it would. There was a charming novelty in the idea, which was very alluring.

"If we told your mother where we were going, if she did not go herself she might want to send Jane," Theodore continued; "and you know how fussy Jane is. She wouldn't let us out of her sight; and we couldn't pretend we were explorers if she was there. No, we won't tell any one about the Hermit's Cave, and one of these days we'll walk there by ourselves. Mind, Jack, it's a secret, and you'll be a horrid sneak if you tell."

"Of course I won't, if you don't wish me to," Jack returned, a little indignant at his stepbrother's tone. "You know I'm not a sneak. Only, I don't feel sure that mother would like—"

"Oh, Jack, you talk like a baby!" Theodore interrupted crossly. "Perhaps you're afraid to walk so far on the moors without some one to look after you. Well, if you want a nurse, of course that puts a stop to our planning any fun together. I shall go to the Hermit's Cave alone; and if you tell your mother or any one else about it, I'll never forgive you!"

"Oh, Theo, how can you be so nasty?" Jack cried, looking with reproachful eyes at his stepbrother, whose face was flushed and angry. "Do promise me you won't go alone!"

"Then will you go with me?" Theodore demanded.

"Yes, yes."

"Very well; and you promise not to mention the Hermit's Cave to any one?"

"I promise."

"That's right. You're a brick, Jack!"

Jack shook his head. He was not very pleased with Theodore for suggesting he wanted a nurse to look after him, and was therefore disinclined to talk; so the short remaining distance to the farm was walked in silence.

The boys found Mrs. Barton on the look-out for them; and in answer to her question as to where they had been, they gave her an account of their conversation with Seth Stanley, only abstaining from mention of the Hermit's Cave.

"He is such a nice man," Theodore said in conclusion; "much nicer than our blacksmith at home!"

"I should not allow either of you to have anything to do with him if he was not," Mrs. Barton told them. "You know your father disapproves of the Blakes—both father and son. I will ask him what he thinks of this Seth Stanley, and hear what he has to say."

"I'm sure he's a good man, mother," Jack replied earnestly.

"I daresay he is, my dear. I think he must be, judging from what you have said. I saw him standing in his doorway when I passed there the other day, and I thought he looked an ideal village blacksmith."