Ten minutes' walking brought us into a rough country lane, winding picturesquely between high banks and green hedges, affording an agreeable contrast to the flat, unenclosed tracts of corn-land so general throughout Cambridgeshire. After following this lane about a quarter of a mile, we came upon a small, retired ale-house, surrounded by trees. As we approached the door a stout, vulgar-looking woman, dressed in rather tawdry finery, ran out to meet us; on coming nearer, however, she stopped short as if surprised, and then re-entered the house as quickly as she had left it, calling to some one within as she did so. After waiting for a minute or two she came back, accompanied by a tall, disagreeable-looking man in a velveteen shooting-jacket, with a remarkably dirty face, and hands to match.
“Is there a blacksmith living anywhere near here, my good man?” inquired Oaklands.
“Mayhap there is,” was the reply in a surly tone. “Can you direct us how to find him?” continued Oaklands.
“What might you want with him when you've found him?” was the rejoinder.
“My horse has cast a shoe, and I want one put on immediately,'” replied Oaklands, who was getting impatient at the man's unsatisfactory, not to say insolent, manner.
“Mayhap you won't get it done in quite such a hurry as you seems to expect! There's a blacksmith lives at Stony End, about five miles farther on. Go straight up the lane for about three miles, then turn to the right, then twice to the left, and then you'll see a finger-post that ain't got nothing on it—when you come to that——”
“Which I never shall do, depend upon it,” replied Oaklands. “My good man, you don't imagine I'm going to fatigue myself and lame my horse by walking five miles up this unlucky lane, do you? If things really are as bad as you would make them out to be, I shall despatch a messenger to summon the smith, and employ myself in the meanwhile in tasting your ale, and consuming whatever you may happen to have in the house fit to eat.” I observed that the landlord and his wife, as I presumed her to be, exchanged very blank looks when Oaklands announced this determination. When he ceased speaking she whispered a few words into the ear of the man, who gave a kind of surly grunt in reply, and then, turning to Harry, said, “Mayhap I'll shoe your horse for you myself if you'll make it worth my while”.
“You will? why, I thought you said there was not a smith within five miles?”
“No more there ain't, only me.”
“And you've been worrying me, and tiring my patience all this time, merely to secure yourself a better bargain? Oh, the needless trouble people give themselves in this world! Shoe the horse, man, and make your own charge; be sure I'll not complain of it, only be quick,” replied Oaklands.