n both sides. It was difficult to think
of Uncle Josh as ever having been young. His hair, his complexion, his
eyes, and even his coat, all seemed nearly of a color--a kind of
snuff-colored red. He had a limping, rolling gait, affected by some
infirmity of lameness which had, perhaps, prevented him from engaging in
farming or fishing, which employed most men of the village; so he went
into trade.

One of the "fore rooms," so called, of the house was his shop; the floor
was of immaculate neatness, and carefully sanded every morning. On one
side stood a cluster of barrels, one empty barrel surmounted by a board,
exactly a yard long, the edge notched for the quarters and inches. This
was his counter, and held a clumsy pair of scales. On the other side was
a rude table containing boxes of cotton cloth, cambrics or checked
goods, sewing cotton, buttons, thimbles, scissors, jack-knives, needles,
and pins. On the mantel-shelf stood a pile of white, blue-edged plates,
and mugs, and pitchers, from which projected sticks of red and white
candy, like miniature barber's poles, and heaps of "gibraltars," hard
and solid, sweet and brittle, and honest. Every child knew that they
were a cent apiece, and thought them worth it.

No errand was half as welcome as one to Uncle Josh, when they might take
an egg and get a skein of cotton. Sometimes he dived down into a cask of
raisins as he passed by it, and filled the hand of the waiting messenger
when he gave her whatever she came for, and took her money. Uncle Josh
made no charges; he went on the cash system. He would barter, but he
kept no running accounts with any one. The youngest child might go to
him with the same certainty of right measure and weight as the shrewdest
adult. One bright-faced little girl, who used to come often into his
store, neatly dressed in her high-necked tier, and cape-bonnet, seemed
to be a great favorite with him. He would sometimes say, half aside,
that she was "pooty as a queen," although why the sturdy republican
should make that comparison is a mystery. One day he stood at the open
door, wistfully watching her as she walked off with her light, elastic
step, and his mother, who had come in from the back room, answered to
his unspoken thought, "Yes, she does, look a sight as Liza used to." The
one woman whom others had connected with the idea of Uncle Josh's
marrying had been dead long ago. It was said he had meant to ask her to
be his wife when he should ha