She sorrowfully passed the cheerful preparations for wayfarers better supplied than herself with all-conquering gold, and heart-sore and weary sat herself down on an old stump of wood outside the village smithy.
Here, however, she soon forgot her fatigue for a while in watching the red furnace, and the grimy fire-illumined men who moved briskly to and fro, striking bright sparks from the glowing metal. They interested her strangely by their easy motions of power, and apparently inexhaustible store of latent strength. She was gradually recalled to herself, however, by perceiving that she and Fido had become the centre of attraction to a gathering crowd. The children accustomed to cluster round the entrance of the warm and busy workshop now turned their attention to this solitary maiden, and the beautiful dog, which, standing before her, ever on the alert, seemed ready to guard his mistress to the death.
The heated smith, coming for a moment to cool himself at the half-barred entrance, found an inquisitive group pressing round the young girl, regardless of Fido's low growls, as with hair on end and quivering tail, he prepared to spring on anyone who might touch or insult her.
Of a kindly and generous nature, and ever ready to befriend the helpless, Master Franz stepped up to the stranger and civilly asked her pleasure.
Fidunia, frightened, as well she might be, by the rude remarks of the gaping village girls, exclaimed in a tearful voice, "Oh, sir, I know not where to go for a night's lodging, I and my poor dog, we are travelling to the great city of Deva, but we are tired, and unable to journey farther this day." Franz, sorely puzzled, looked around in vain for help or counsel. He knew better than the shivering little maid before him what rustic gossip meant. A stalwart bachelor living all alone above his smithy, he himself, however compassionate, could offer no shelter to the poor wanderers. A sudden thought struck him. "Come with me," he cried, "to my good friend Dorothy of the "Golden Boar;" I warrant me she will blithely give thee food and lodging for the night."
"Kind, sir," answered the poor girl sorrowfully, "I have no money to offer to the good lady of the inn, and she has already bidden me from her door; but," continued Fidunia timidly, "I and my dog are able to make some few passes together, which might give amusement to the worthy Dorothy, and even induce her to grant us leave to rest for the night beneath her roof."
The friendly Franz chuckled with delight as he exclaimed, "By my halidome, damsel, thy words are well-flavoured. Dame Dorothy shall give to thee and thy pretty beast a hearty meal; and then, my mates," he added, turning to the assembled villagers, "we will step up to the "Golden Boar" when our labours for the day are ended, and see whether we cannot help the maiden and her dog on their voyage."
At these words Fidunia felt greatly comforted, and she and Fido fearlessly retraced their steps in the wake of the burly smith.
Dame Dorothy had long ere this left her door, and was now engaged in the great kitchen superintending with her own hands the preparation of a savoury pie, which somehow or other she hoped Master Franz would that very evening help her to consume. Her old husband had been gathered to his fathers many months agone. Since his death the worthy woman often felt the hours after dark pass very slowly. No one knew this interesting fact better than the shrewd yet simple smith, who, early or late, felt sure of a warm welcome whenever he crossed the comfortable threshold of the "Golden Boar."
When the landlady heard steps in her passage, a slight cloud of annoyance rose to her brow—for what mistress likes to be interrupted in her mysterious culinary rites? The incipient frown, however, speedily changed to a smile as Franz's broad figure appeared in the doorway. With a "welcome, neighbour," she hurriedly stooped to shut the oven door, an exertion which called additional colour into her round healthy cheek.