“Mais oui, monsieur,” answered Fairy.
“Pardon mille fois, mademoiselle est Française?” said the Frenchman, with true French politeness.
“Mais non, monsieur,” laughed Fairy, in a half-reproachful, half-deprecating tone.
“Mademoiselle speaks like a native, but will she have the kindness to tell me what is the English for fer-de-cheval; I have forgotten?”
“A horseshoe,” said Fairy.
“A horseshoe,” lisped the Frenchman.
“A horseshoe, and he asked for a horse’s iron; no wonder I didn’t know what he meant,” growled the blacksmith, proceeding to get the article in question.
“A horseshoe—a horse’s iron,” laughed the veterinary, in an undertone of scorn, as he went his way to look after John Shelley’s sheep.
“Yes,” said the Frenchman, in French, to Fairy, “I want a horseshoe. They tell me a horseshoe always brings good luck, so I am going to keep one in my room.”
“Oh, but it is no use to buy a horseshoe; you must find it, pick it up on the road, and keep it for it to bring good luck,” laughed Fairy, speaking French.