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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
140
Never
shall
I
forget
that
grateful
moment
when
I
first
passed
Baxter's
shop--a
failure
from
the
city--and
Baxter
looking
out
at
me
from
his
deep,
quiet,
gray
eyes--eyes
that
were
almost
a
caress!
My
wayward
feet
soon
took
me,
unintroduced,
within
the
doors
of
that
shop,
the
first
of
many
visits.
And
I
can
say
no
more
in
appreciation
of
my
ventures
there
than
that
I
came
out
always
with
more
than
I
had
when
I
went
in.
The
wonders
there!
The
long
bench
with
its
huge-jawed
wooden
vises,
and
the
little
dusty
windows
above
looking
out
into
the
orchard,
and
the
brown
planes
and
the
row
of
shiny
saws,
and
the
most
wonderful
pattern
squares
and
triangles
and
curves,
each
hanging
on
its
own
peg;
and
above,
in
the
rafters,
every
sort
and
size
of
curious
wood.
And
oh!
the
old
bureaus
and
whatnots
and
high-boys
in
the
corners
waiting
their
turn
to
be
mended;
and
the
sticky
glue-pot
waiting,
too,
on
the
end
of
the
sawhorse.
There
is
family
history
here
in
this
shop--no
end
of
it--the
small
and
yet
great
(because
intensely
human)
tragedies
and
humours
of
the
long,
quiet
years
among
these
sunny
hills.
That
whatnot
there,
the
one
of
black
walnut
with
the
top
knocked
off,
that
belonged
in
the
old
days
to----
"Charles
Baxter,"
calls
my
friend
Patterson
from
the
roadway,
"can
you
fix
my
cupboard?"
"Bring
it
in,"
says
Charles
Baxter,
hospitably,
and
Patterson
brings
it
in,
and
stops
to
talk--and
stops--and
stops--There
is
great
talk
in
Baxter's
shop--the
slow-gathered
wisdom
of
the
country,
the
lore
of
crops
and
calves
and
cabinets.
In
Baxter's
shop
we
choose
the
next
President
of
these
United
States!
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