Smiled wistfully, and, raising up his head,
Told me that it was nothing I had said.
MORRIS TYLER.
Three Fables
I.
I heard not long since the tale of a weary knight and his crippled horse. It had come about, after days of long travel in search of a lost princess, that the poor steed had worn away his shoes. Indeed, every step now left a clot of blood in the dust of the highway. The knight, realizing the suffering of his companion, dismounted and walked by his side, vainly seeking for a smith. Finally, one night when both knew his strength must be spent before the dawn, there gleamed a light in the distance. With words of encouragement the knight urged the horse on to a last effort. And his prayers were realized, for the light proved to be that of a forge blazing against the darkness. In the doorway sat the smith, drinking ale. When he saw the knight and his horse, he burst out laughing.
“Well, this is a prize,” he cried.
The knight smiled. “You’re a great prize to us,” he answered, “for this poor animal has plodded on through many days in great pain. Forge him the best shoes you know how to.”
At this the smith laughed all the louder. “I’d have you know, Sir Knight,” he replied, “that I am Martin Barrow, the greatest smith who ever blew a forge in all England!”