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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
29
Another
shop--a
very
small
one--joined
my
father's,
where
three
shoemakers,
all
of
the
same
name--the
name
our
lane
went
by--sat
at
their
benches
and
plied
their
"waxed
ends."
One
of
them,
an
elderly
man,
tall
and
erect,
used
to
come
out
regularly
every
day,
and
stand
for
a
long
time
at
the
corner,
motionless
as
a
post,
with
his
nose
and
chin
pointing
skyward,
usually
to
the
northeast.
I
watched
his
face
with
wonder,
for
it
was
said
that
"Uncle
John"
was
"weatherwise,"
and
knew
all
the
secrets
of
the
heavens.
Aunt
Hannah's
schoolroom
and
"our
shop"
are
a
blended
memory
to
me.
As
I
was
only
a
baby
when
I
began
to
go
to
school,
I
was
often
sent
down-stairs
for
a
half
hour's
recreation
not
permitted
to
the
older
ones.
I
think
I
looked
upon
both
school
and
shop
entirely
as
places
of
entertainment
for
little
children.
The
front
shop-window
was
especially
interesting
to
us
children,
for
there
were
in
it
a
few
glass
jars
containing
sticks
of
striped
barley-candy,
and
red
and
white
peppermint-drops,
and
that
delectable
achievement
of
the
ancient
confectioner's
art,
the
"Salem
gibraltar."
One
of
my
first
recollections
of
my
father
is
connected
with
that
window.
He
had
taken
me
into
the
shop
with
him
after
dinner,--I
was
perhaps
two
years
old,--and
I
was
playing
beside
him
on
the
counter
when
one
of
his
old
sea-comrades
came
in,
whom
we
knew
as
"Captain
Cross."
The
Captain
tried
to
make
friends
with
me,
and,
to
seal
the
bond,
asked
my
father
to
take
down
from
its
place
of
exhibition
a
strip
of
red
peppermints
dropped
on
white
paper,
in
a
style
I
particularly
admired,
which
he
twisted
around
my
neck,
saying,
"Now
I've
bought
you!
Now
you
are
my
girl.
Come,
go
home
with
me!"
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