But once, as he hastened by at break of day, whom should he meet but Sylvan, the squire's son, setting out with a couple of terriers to hunt for weasels.
"Where are you going so early?" said Sylvan; and Randal told him.
Then the young squire laughed aloud, and cried out, "Oh, I have been a locksmith too at the four roads' end! My father made me go and work like a common slave. But I have had enough of that sort of life, and I don't wish to hear anything more about 'locks and keys, and fairy palaces.' Come with me, and I'll teach you how to set a trap."
But Randal silently shook his head, and went his way to the forge at the four roads' end. Sylvan's words, however, continued to ring in his ears, and spoiled his heart for his labour. And all that day the smithy seemed in his eyes like an ugly den, and himself and the little locksmiths like so many toil-worn slaves. And now he chafed and fretted; and now he loitered at his work; and now he hastened to make up for squandered time. And then, alas, in his haste, he broke the key he was making.
"Here's a pretty mess!" cried Randal in despair. "Must I start at the beginning again? Or shall I give it up altogether? Ah! why did I hear about the fairy palace at all?"
The temptation was strong to fling down his tools, as many another before him had done, and leave the anvil for ever. Randal's ten fingers were just raised to unfasten the ties of his leather apron, when a joyous cry rang through the forge.
It came from the pale-faced, earnest-looking lad, who held up his shining new key now completed. "My seventh trial," he shouted, with tears in his eyes, "and I know that it is perfect!" and he bounded forth in the direction of the wonderful mansion in the forest.
At the sight of the pale boy's success Randal blushed deep red, and bit his lip; then, picking up his instruments one by one, he begged the master to give him another bit of iron.
After that, the little locksmith wrought the livelong day with more energy and greater courage than any one at the forge. Before daybreak now he hastened to his work, ever choosing the nearest way, and avoiding the wood, lest he might encounter idle Sylvan, the squire's son. But once, at eventide, whom should he chance to meet but the gentle, pale-faced boy, coming from the fairy house, and looking so radiant and happy, that Randal rushed towards him, and questioned him about the treasures.
"Oh, Randal!" cried his friend, "you will simply be enchanted when you come. For, once within the fairy palace, you must look and listen, and laugh, and admire."