Fred went in, and asked if he might sit there a while to rest.
“Certainly,” said the blacksmith, as he threw a finished nail into an open drawer under the bench. “How far have you come?”
“I can’t tell,” said Fred; “it must be as much as ten miles.”
“Got far to go?”
“I don’t know how far. I’m going to seek my fortune.”
The smith let his hammer rest on the anvil, and took a good look at Fred. “You seem to be in earnest,” said he.
“I am,” said Fred.
“Don’t you know that gold dollars don’t go rolling up hill in these days, for boys to chase them, and we haven’t any fairies in this country, dancing by moonlight over buried treasure?” said the smith.
“O, yes, I know that,” said Fred. “But people get rich in these days as much as ever they did. And I want to find out the best way to do it.”
“What is that nail made of?” said the smith, holding out one.