Lizzie and Tom looked in pretty often to see the blacksmith, although they were what the people called gentlefolks’ children, and although Burn-the-wind did not take the liberty of romping with them, he told them many a droll story, and sometimes sang them a song.
Then Shireen used to be found there, and if Tom and Lizzie came in and waited awhile, she went trotting home with them, and sometimes they met Cracker, and so they all came back together.
Tom admired Burn-the-wind very much, and sometimes insisted upon being taken up on his sturdy shoulders, that he might catch hold of the bellows handle and blow the fire. And how he used to laugh, to be sure, when the coals got red and hot sparks flew!
“What are you going to be when you grow up?” said Burn-the-wind one day to Tom.
“I haven’t twite (quite) made up my mind yet,” replied Tom manfully, “but I will either be a great general, and cut off lots of heads, or a blacksmith, and soo (shoe) horses.”
Tom thought it grand fun to see a horse being shod, and wondered at the animal’s patience in holding up foot after foot, while Shireen sat by and sang.
The snow was on the ground one afternoon when Lizzie and Tom, rosy and healthy-looking after a long walk, dropped in on their way home.
Warlock and Tabby were with them, and Vee-Vee also.
“Is Shireen here, Mister Blacksmith?” said Tom.
“Ay, that she is, my lad. Been singing to me, and I was singing to her. Oh, we’re fine friends, I assure you.”