Although he
rarely said much, he had been a great listener, and no one had
been better versed in neighborhood affairs. In brief, he had been
the village cobbler, and had not only taken the measure of Susie
Rolliffe's little foot, but also of her spirit. Like herself he
had been misled at first by the forwardness of Zeke Watkins and
the apparent backwardness of Jarvis. Actual service had changed
his views very decidedly. When Zeb appeared he had watched the
course of this bashful suitor with interest which had rapidly
ripened into warm but undemonstrative goodwill. The young fellow
had taken pains to relieve the older man, had carried his tools
for him, and more than once with his strong hands had almost
rubbed the rheumatism out of the indomitable cobbler's leg. He had
received but slight thanks, and had acted as if he didn't care for
any. Stokes was not a man to return favors in words; be brooded
over his gratitude as if it were a grudge. "I'll get even with
that young Jarvis yet," he muttered, as he nursed his leg over the
fire.
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