The sun was high in the heavens when he turned his weary steed homeward. On his place all was in order—for that, at least, he felt grateful. The bleating of the sheep, mingling with the soft low of the cattle, told of prosperity. He returned by way of the stable, and went in to look at his racer.
“You shall run no more, my boy,” he said, lightly touching his glossy side. “Take off his halter, and turn him loose upon the pasture, but look well to him, lad, for I go away for months; and, as it fares with him, so will it with you,” and, giving the reins of his horse into the boy’s hands, he entered the house. A day or two he lingered there, then was in the city once more.
Peleg sang at his work, and swung his hammer over his new anvil, as Emory greeted him one morn with:
“Ah! I see you’ve kept the anvil, though you refused the money.”
“Yes,” said the blacksmith, “this was a bargain, sir; I stick to that, for I meant it when I told you to book it;—and a pretty good thing it be! Thanks, Mr. Emory!”
The gentleman sat himself down on a wooden bench, just inside the door, watching the brawny, bare arms of the worker of iron go up and down in their physical beauty, while the red light from the sparkling forge shone brightly on his honest, ruddy face.
“So true to her!” he thought, “and must I be less so?” Aloud, he said: “Peleg, I am going away, perhaps, for years. Let me leave you a little income—something to make your life a bit easier, your toil lighter.”
“Bless you! Mr. Emory,” replied the man, “I’m as happy as a king! There’s nothing I want—no worry comes a-nigh us now. My good woman and me plod on together as comfortable as can be. No! no! keep your gold. I can always make a fair living, so long as these don’t fail me,” and he held out his splendid arms. “But I would ask a little favor of you—just this—to let me shoe the racer, now and then, and to ask Mr. Maury to send his bay boys here for me to tap their hoofs. You see, I knows ’em all, and what suits ’em.”
“That I will!” exclaimed Neil; “and, besides, I’ll leave orders for you to do all my work, except Cliquot—you cannot shoe him.”
“Why, sir? Him’s the one I thought on most.”