Mr.Winslow stood there, with his leather apron on, and his woollen sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his brawny arms with their muscles of steel.

He was working the bellows and singing softly to himself, after a habit he had when alone.
Apparently, he had let his helper off earlier than customary that afternoon, for the deacon was not a hard employer, and ready to grant favors when business was not rushing.
Hugh stood there and took in the striking picture, with the glowing fire in the forge, that fine, big figure of the old blacksmith standing there.

The rosy light played on his strong features as he crooned his song, his thoughts possibly away back in the past, as is the habit of those who near the end of their life span.
Just then little Joey sneezed.

The low song of the deacon came to an abrupt end, as he turned his head and discovered the two figures in the open doorway.
He recognized Hugh immediately, and a look of genuine pleasure flashed across his face.
"Is that you, Hugh ?" he called out, stopping work with the bellows; "and have you come out to take a bite with the old lady and myself?
I'm certainly glad to see you, lad.

And who might this fine little chap be ?" It was only natural that a man who loved all boys, little and big, as Deacon Winslow did, should drop down on one knee and take Joey in his arms.