Twigs whipped my face, thorns and brambles dragged at my clothes, hidden obstacles lay in wait for my feet, for the wood grew denser as I advanced, but I pushed on, heedless alike of these and of what direction I took. But, as luck would have it, I presently blundered upon a path which, in a short time, brought me out very suddenly into what appeared to be a small tavern yard, for on either hand was a row of tumble-down stables and barns, while before me was a low, rambling structure which I judged was the tavern itself. I was yet standing looking about me when a man issued from the stables upon my right, bearing a hammer in one hand and a lanthorn in the other. "Hallo!" said he, staring at me. "Hallo!" said I, staring at him. "You don't chance to 'ave a axle-bolt about you, I suppose?" "No," said I. "Humph!" he grunted, and, lowering his lanthorn, began searching among the cobblestones. "Is this it?" I inquired, picking up a rusty screw-bolt at my feet. "Ah!" said he, taking it from me with a nod, "know'd I dropped it 'ere some'eres. Ye see," he went on, "couldn't get another round 'ere to-night, and that cussed axle's got to be in place to-morra." "Yes?" said I. "Ah!" nodded the man; "chaise come in 'ere 'arf-an-hour ago wi' two gentlemen and a lady, in the Lord's own 'urry too. 'Mend this axle, me man,' says one on 'em—a top-sawyer be the looks on 'im—'mend this axle, and quick about it.' 'Can't be done, my lord,' says I. 'W'y not?' says 'e, showin' 'is teeth savage-like. 'Because it can't,' says I, 'not no'ow, me lord,' says I. Well, after cussin' 'isself well-nigh black in the face, 'e orders me to have it ready fust thing to-morra, and if you 'adn't found that there bolt for me it wouldn't have been ready fust thing to-morra, which would ha' been mighty bad for me, for this 'ere gentleman's a fire-and-fury out-and-outer, and no error." "Can I have a bed here, do you think?" I inquired. "Ah," said he, "I think you can." "For how much, do you suppose?" "To you—sixpence." "Why, that seems reasonable," said I. "It are," nodded the man, "and a fine feather bed too! But then, Lord, one good turn deserves another—" "Meaning?" "This 'ere bolt." "Are you the landlord, then?" "I be; and if you feel inclined for a mug o' good ale say the word." "Most willingly," said I, "but what of the axle?"