“Hey?” inquired the blacksmith absently.
“Where's my horse? Is he ready?”
Benijah wiped his forehead.
“Gosh!” he exclaimed. “By . . . gosh!”
“What are you b'goshin' about?”
“Seth—I don't know what you'll say to me—but—but I declare I forgot all about your horse.”
“You FORGOT about him?”
“Yes. You see that thing?” pointing pathetically at the auto. “Well, sir, that pesky thing's breakin' my heart—to say nothin' of my back. I got it apart all right, no trouble about that. And by good rights I've got it together again, leastways it looks so. Yet, by time,” in distracted agitation, “there's a half bucket of bolts and nuts and odds and ends that ain't in it yet—left over, you might say. And I can't find any place to put one of 'em. Do you wonder I forget trifles?”
Trifles! the shoeing of Joshua a trifle! The lightkeeper had been suffering for an opportunity to blow off steam, and the opportunity was here. Benijah withered under the blast.
“S-sh-sh! sh-sh!” he pleaded. “Land sakes, Seth Atkins, stop it! I don't blame you for bein' mad, but you nor nobody else sha'n't talk to me that way. I'll fix your horse in five minutes. Yes, sir, in five minutes. Shut up now, or I won't do it at all!”