Uncle
Bart's son, Cephas (Patty's secret adorer), was a painter by
trade, and kept his pots and cans and brushes in a little
outhouse at the back, while Uncle Bart himself stood every day
behind his long joiner's bench almost knee-deep in shavings. How
the children loved to play with the white, satiny rings, making
them into necklaces, hanging them to their ears and weaving them
into wreaths.
Wonderful houses could always be built in the corner of the shop,
out of the little odds and ends and "nubbins" of white pine, and
Uncle Bart was ever ready to cut or saw a special piece needed
for some great purpose.
The sound of the plane was sweet music in the old joiner's ears.
"I don't hardly know how I'd a made out if I'd had to work in a
mill," he said confidentially to Cephas. "The noise of a saw
goin' all day, coupled with your mother's tongue mornin's an'
evenin's, would 'a' been too much for my weak head. I'm a quiet
man, Cephas, a man that needs a peaceful shop where he can get
away from the comforts of home now and then, without shirkin' his
duty nor causin' gossip. If you should ever marry, Cephas,--which
don't look to me likely without you pick out a dif'rent girl,--I
'd advise you not to keep your stock o' paints in the barn or the
shed, for it's altogether too handy to the house and the
women-folks.
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