Note. This is translated from an old French poem, written before the time of the story.
Father Thomas stopped beside the anvil, but the smith’s back was turned, so that he did not see him.
“A sad song, my friend—if that were all.”
“Eh?” said Dan, looking behind him, and then immediately throwing down the hammer, and giving a pull to his forelock. Great respect was paid to priests at that day. “Axe your pardon, Father! Didn’t see who it were.”
“I came to see thy wife, my son. Shall I go forward?”
“Not if you’re o’ my mind. Happen you aren’t.”
“Is she not at home?”
“Oh, ay, she’s at home!”
The smith’s tone might have meant that he could have wished she was somewhere else. Father Thomas waited, till Dan flung down the hammer, and looked up at him.
“Had ye e’er a mother?” asked he.