Jones of Old Lincoln (Chapter 4, page 2 of 15)


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Chapter 4

In a bit of time, my visitor from the nineteenth century walked toward me with solemn precision from the north on Lincoln Street (old Spring Street). When he reached, me, he lifted his cane a couple of feet and pointed to his left, northeast toward the small stream behind me. Brambles, weeds, ambitious scrap bushes, and stunted trees lined the old limestone walls that protected the stream's banks.

"Town Spring is over yonder. It was the center from which this community functioned, sir, for many years. The good spring there offered those who settled here about the most vital element for life; agriculture and commerce, good water. Then, in the1830s, we found beneficial water from a fine spring a few miles south of town. The town prospered further."

Satisfied that he had grounded our session, he stood there for a spell looking from left to right. Knowing the place, he continued, "Over there, toward the northwest, Tan Yard Branch meanders all the way to the Petersburg-Howell Pike. Our shop was up that aways. That's where I met the General back in 1818." He paused as if to find what words he needed to use. It appeared to be a difficult task.

"And just there," he said, pointing directly north of where we sat toward the intersection of Maple (old Mud Street) and Lincoln Avenue, "is where I first cast eyes on Miss Patc." His look took on a mystical veil, but noticeable through the ethereal shadow was a sparkle in his eyes, a moist glistening evident. His pale blue eyes conveyed sorrow and loss. He lowered his head for a few moments. His posture, normally rigid, relaxed as he remembered. In appearance, a sad, tired old man, he took his seat facing me, managing to sit on the picnic table seat with intentional grace.

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