"An' 'ow am I to know that, 'ow am I to be sure o' that; an' you wi' your throat all torn wi' devil's claws an' demon's clutches—it bean't nat'ral—Old Amos says so, an' I sez so."
"Pure folly!" said I, plucking the iron from the fire, and beginning to beat and shape it with my hammer, but presently, remembering the strange man who had spoken my name, I looked up, and then I saw that he was gone. "Where is he?" said I involuntarily.
"Where's who?" inquired John Pringle, glancing about uneasily.
"The fellow who was talking to me as you came up?"
"I didn't see no fellow!" said Job, looking at John and edging nearer the door.
"Nor me neither!" chimed in John Pringle, looking at Job.
"Why, he was leaning in at the window here, not a minute ago," said I, and, plunging the half-finished horseshoe back into the fire, I stepped out into the road, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
"Very strange!" said I.
"What might 'e 'ave been like, now?" inquired John.
"He was tall and thin, and wore a big flapping hat."