"Because," he went on, "you've got the gift o' the gab, and a gabbing man is worse than a gabbing woman." "You can gab your share, if it comes to that," said I. "Can I?" "You can." "My chap," he growled, holding up a warning hand, "go easy now, go easy; don't get me took again." "Not if I can help it," I returned. "I be a quiet soul till I gets took—a very quiet soul—lambs bean't quieter, but I won't answer for that neck o' yourn if I do get took—so look out!" "I understand you have an important piece of work on hand," said I, changing the subject. "Th' owd church screen, yes." "And are in need of a helper?" "Ah! to be sure—but you aren't got the look o' a workin' cove. I never see a workin' cove wi' 'ands the like o' yourn, so white as a woman's they be." "I have worked hard enough in my time, nevertheless," said I. "What might you 'ave done, now?" "I have translated Petronius Arbiter, also Quintilian, with a literal rendering into the English of the Memoires of the Sieur de Brantome." "Oh," exclaimed the smith, "that sounds a lot! anything more?" "Yes," I answered; "I won the High Jump, and Throwing the Hammer." "Throwin' th' 'ammer!" repeated Black George musingly; "was it anything like that theer?" And he pointed to a sledge near, by. "Something," I answered. "And you want work?" "I do." "Tell 'ee what, my fellow, if you can throw that theer 'ammer further nor me, then I'll say, 'Done,' and you can name your own wages, but if I beat you, and I'm fair sure I can, then you must stand up to me for ten minutes, and I'll give 'ee a good trouncin' to ease my mind—what d'ye say?" After a momentary hesitation, I nodded my head. "Done!" said I. "More fool you!" grinned the smith, and, catching up his sledge-hammer, he strode out into the road. Before "The Bull" a small crowd had gathered, all newly come from field or farmyard, for most of them carried rake or pitchfork, having doubtless been drawn thither by the hellish outcry of Black George and myself. Now I noticed that while they listened to the Ancient, who was holding forth, snuff-box in hand, yet every eye was turned towards the smithy, and in every eye was expectation. At our appearance, however, I thought they seemed, one and all, vastly surprised and taken aback, for heads were shaken, and glances wandered from the smith and myself to the Ancient, and back again. "Well, I'll be danged!" exclaimed Job. "I knowed it! I knowed it!" cried the Ancient, rubbing his hands and chuckling. "Knowed what, Gaffer?" inquired Black George, as we came up. "Why, I knowed as this young chap would come out a-walkin' 'pon his own two legs, and not like Job, a-rollin' and a-wallerin' in the dust o' th' road—like a hog." "Why, y' see, Gaffer," began the smith, almost apologetically it seemed to me, "it do come sort o' nat'ral to heave the likes o' Job about a bit—Job's made for it, y' might say, but this chap 's different." "So 'e be, Jarge—so 'e be!" nodded the Ancient.