The two had ridden no great distance from the river when, close to the roadside, they came upon a small wooden house, from a window of which a light was streaming. This in itself was rather unusual in such a place at such an hour; but, more surprising still, they saw, through the window, a man sitting upon a low bench hammering merrily away at a piece of leather.
“A cobbler,” said Nat, surprised, “and at work so late in the night.”
“His customers must be in great haste,” laughed the Porcupine. “They don’t give the poor man time enough to get his natural sleep.”
“I think,” answered Nat, who had brought the gray to a stand in the road opposite the window, “that it might mean more than that. At any rate, it will do no harm to exchange a word with this hard-pressed mechanic.”
They rode close up under the cobbler’s window; he, roused by the trampling hoofs, paused in his hammering and lifted his head.
“You work late, shoemaker,” saluted Nat, genially. “Business must be over good.”
“You ride late, young sir,” replied the cobbler, shrewdly. “And how is business with you?”
Nat laughed. The night was warm, and the small-paned sash was pushed up as far as it would go, making easy conversation.
“My present business is a great deal of a puzzle,” replied the boy. “And I think I had better see the end of it before I pass any sort of judgment.”
The cobbler was a small, dried-out looking man of middle age. He had a weazened face and cunning eyes; and yet there was something engaging about him. He beat at the thick piece of leather upon his lap-stone for a moment, then laid down the hammer and said: