"The sarpent has got to feed the widows an' the orphans," he said, "an' that's a good reason for bein' a sarpent." As Ann and Elmira did most of their work on the shoes during the day, Jerome fell into the habit of doing his part, the closing, in his uncle's shop at night.

Every evening he would load himself with the sheaf of bound shoes and hasten down the road.

He liked to work in company with a man, rather than with his mother and Elmira; it gave him a sense of independence and maturity.

He did not mind so much delving away on those hard leather seams while his mates were out coasting and skating, for he had the sensation of responsibility--of being the head of a family.

Here he felt like a man supporting his mother and sister; at home he was only a boy, held to his task under the thumb of a woman.
Then, too, his uncle Ozias's conversation was a kind of pungent stimulant--not pleasant to the taste, not even recognizable in all its savors, yet with a growing power of fascination.
Ozias Lamb's shoemaker's shop was simply a little one-room building in the centre of the field south of his cottage house.