“I think,” he answered, “if a man was made to last for ever, the world would get tired of him. When a horse or a dog has done his work, he's content--and so is his master.” “Nay, but I bean't! I bean't content to lose the old horse as I've shod mayhap for twenty years--no, not if I bean't his master!” “There's no help for it, though!” “None as I knows on. I'd be main glad to hear any news on the subjec' as you can supply!--No, I ain't content; I'm sorry!” “Why don't the parsons say the old horse'll rise again?” “'Cause the parsons knows nought about it. How should they?” “They say we're going to rise again.” “Why shouldn't they? I guess I'll be up as soon as I may! I don't want no night to lie longer than rest my bones!” “I mistook what you meant, grandfather. I thought, when you said you weren't made to last for ever, that you meant there was an end of you!” “Well, so you might, and small blame to you! It's a wrong way of speaking we all have. But you've set me thinking--whether by mistake or not, where's the matter! I never thought what come o' the old horse, a'ter all his four shoes takes to shinin' at oncet! For the old smith when he drops his hammer--I have thought about _him_. Lord!--to think o' that anvil never ringin' no more to this here fist o' mine!” While they talked, the blacksmith had put off his thick apron of hide; and now, catching up Richard's portmanteau as if it had been a hand-basket, he led the way to a cottage not far from the forge, in a lane that here turned out of the high road. It was a humble place enough--one story and a wide attic. The front was almost covered with jasmine, rising from a little garden filled with cottage flowers. Behind was a larger garden, full of cabbages and gooseberry-bushes. A girl came to the door, with a kind, blushing face, and hands as red as her cheeks--a great-niece of the old smith. He passed her and led the way into a room half kitchen, half parlour. “Here you are, lad--_at_ home, I hope! Sech as it is, an' as much as it's mine, it's yours, an' I hope you'll make it so.” He deposited the portmanteau, glanced quickly round, saw that Jessie had not followed them, and said-- “You'll keep your good news till I've turned it over!” “What good news, grandfather?” “The good news that them as is close pared, has no call to look out for the hoof to grow. I'm not saying you're wrong, lad--not _yet_; but everybody mightn't think your news so good as to be worth a special messenger! So till you're quite sure of it--” “I _am_ quite sure of it, grandfather!” “I'm not; and having charge of the girl there, I'll ha' no dish served i' my house as I don't think wholesome!” “You're right there, grandfather! You may trust me!” answered Richard respectfully. The blacksmith had spoken with a decision that was imperative. His red face shone out of his white beard, and his eyes sparkled out of his red face; his head gave a nod, and his jaws a snap.