"Of recent years," said Ketchell, "we thought he'd given up the idea.
His friends are all here now, and if he went back, he certainly would
be disappointed."
A sort of serenity seemed, indeed, to come upon him: his family lie on
the quiet hill, old things and old times have grown distant, and upon
that anvil of his before the glowing forge he has beaten out for himself
a real place in this community. He has beaten out the respect of a whole
town; and from the crude human nature with which he started he has
fashioned himself wisdom, and peace of mind, and the ripe humour which
sees that God is in his world. There are men I know who read many books,
hoping to learn how to be happy; let me commend them to Carlstrom, the
gunsmith.
I have often reflected upon the incalculable influence of one man upon a
community. The town is better for having stood often looking into the
fire of Carlstrom's forge, and seeing his hammer strike. I don't know
how many times I have heard men repeat observations gathered in
Carlstrom's shop. Only the other day I heard the village school teacher
say, when I asked him why he always seemed so merry and had so little
fault to find with the world.
"Why," he replied, "as Carlstrom, the smith says, 'when I feel like
finding fault I always begin with myself and then I never get any
farther,'"
Another of Carlstrom's sayings is current in the country.
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