"Rustier, Peter?"
"Much rustier!" Very slowly a smile dawned on the wrinkled old face, and very slowly the eyes were lowered till they met mine.
"Eh, lad! but I be glad o' that—we be all growin' older, Peter, an'—though I be a wonnerful man for my age, an' so strong as a cart-'orse, Peter, still, I du sometimes feel like I be growin' rustier wi' length o' days, an' 'tis a comfort to know as that theer stapil's a-growin' rustier along wi' me. Old I be, but t' stapil's old too, Peter, an' I be waitin' for the day when it shall rust itself away altogether; an' when that day comes, Peter, then I'll say, like the patriach in the Bible: 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace!' Amen, Peter!"
"Amen!" said I. And so, having watched the old man totter across to
"The Bull," I turned into the smithy and, set about lighting the fire.
CHAPTER VI
IN WHICH I LEARN OF AN IMPENDING DANGER
I am at the forge, watching the deepening glow of the coals as I ply the bellows; and, listening to their hoarse, not unmusical drone, it seems like a familiar voice (or the voice of a familiar), albeit a somewhat wheezy one, speaking to me in stertorous gasps, something in this wise:
"Charmian Brown—desires to thank—Mr. Smith—but because thanks—are so poor and small—and his service so great—needs must she remember him—"
"Remember me!" said I aloud, and, letting go the shaft of the bellows the better to think this over, it naturally followed that the bellows grew suddenly dumb, whereupon I seized the handle and recommenced blowing with a will.
"—remember him as a gentleman," wheezed the familiar.