Impressions 



carry home his converwSation as easily as I can 

 recall, if I desire, the aromatic atmosphere of 

 his shop. These visits are, indeed, like going 

 back and seeing what once was, and was for the 

 better too, instead of hearing or reading his- 

 tory. To be your own great-grandfather for 

 an hour and face solid wood instead of veneer, 

 is an experience worth the trouble that it costs. 

 I was not the only casual visitor. More than 

 one old man' of the neighborhood had found 

 David's shop, and when, one dreary November 

 afternoon, I heard mention of the recent high 

 water in the Assunpink Creek, I recalled and 

 recounted, as best I could, the story I had heard 

 of a flood of long ago, as told at the cross- 

 road's comer near my home. 



Along the north wall of the smithy ran a low 

 seat giving comfortable room to four people. 

 It was far enough away to avoid the sparks 

 from the anvil and, having a sunny, southern 

 outlook, was the chosen spot where four old 

 men of the village were wont to gather every 

 bright winter day. Job Stillcreep was the dean 

 of this little faculty, in whose keeping were the 

 traditions of the neighborhood, — a long-settled 



7 



