The proprietor of the rink tried to collect damages from father, and I think there was a compromise made. But the skating rink had one moral effect upon the people of Silverton that it might never have had, as the town was full of philosophers, mathematicians and smart men, and none of them would have believed if they hadn’t seen it, that just a little wet feather could break a pane of glass.
The next Fourth of July Silverton was down on the bulletin boards for a celebration, and as in all small country towns on such occasions, the village was keyed up to its highest pitch. Long before noon our barnyard had commenced to fill with wagons and hacks belonging to friends and relatives and a few people we owed, and among the wagons I recognized that of father’s brother, Uncle Ben, who lived up in the Waldo Hills. When Uncle Ben came to town, he always put his team in our barn and came into the house to joke and talk business, and though he was full brother to my father, Uncle never ate with us for the simple reason that my father ate plain food, while Uncle Ben didn’t care to waste any time with anything but fancy cooking. His
