"That's me," answered Bremner.
"Bring your irons as soon as you like! I'm about ready for you."
"Ay, ay, here they are," said the man, advancing with an armful of picks, chisels, and other tools, which required sharpening.
He slipped and fell as he spoke, sending all the tools into the bottom of a pool of water; but, being used to such mishaps, he arose, joined in the laugh raised against him, and soon fished up the tools.
"What's wrong!" asked Ruby, pausing in the work of fixing the bellows, on observing that the smith's face grew pale, and his general expression became one of horror. "Not sea-sick, I hope?"
"Sea-sick," gasped the smith, slapping all his pockets hurriedly, "it's worse than that; I've forgot the matches!"
Ruby looked perplexed, but had no consolation to offer.
"That's like you," cried Bremner, who, being one of the principal masons, had to attend chiefly to the digging out of the foundation-pit of the building, and knew that his tools could not be sharpened unless the forge fire could be lighted.
"Suppose you hammer a nail red-hot," suggested one of the men, who was disposed to make game of the smith.
"I'll hammer your nose red-hot," replied Dove, with a most undovelike scowl, "I could swear that I put them matches in my pocket before I started."