Then came the shoe-shop, where my father took us to get our winter boots, which he paid for by trading flour saved up from his tolls. This shop was a large affair, with three or four men and boys working steadily in the busy season of the year. Two or three checkerboards, too, were constantly in use, especially in the long winter evenings, and every man in the room would tell the player where he ought to move, or rather where he should have moved in order to win the game. The old shoe-shop was a great place to discuss the questions of the day; it was even more popular than the store. Politics and religion were the favorite topics then, as they are to-day,—as they have ever been since the world began, and will ever be while the world shall last; for one of them has to do with the brief transitory life of man upon the earth, and the other with his everlasting hopes and doubts, desires and fears for another life when this is done. Besides politics and religion, men and women were discussed,—all the men and women for miles around who were not there; these critics debated about the skill of the blacksmith and the carriage-maker, the thrift of the merchant and the farmer, and the learning of the preachers and the doctors. This last topic was a never-ending subject for debate, as there were two of each. I do not remember what they said about the preachers, but I know that when any doctor was discussed his disciples stoutly claimed that he was the best in the whole country round, while his enemies agreed that they would not let him “doctor a sick cat.” As I recall those little groups, their opinions on men and women almost always seemed unfavorable and hard, like most of the personal discussions that I have ever heard. After much reflection I have reached the conclusion that all people are envious to a greater or a less degree, and of course each one’s goodness and importance increase in proportion as those of others are made to grow less.