“So much the better,” answered the other, for he had heard of Martin Barrow. And, looking more carefully around, he saw that this was no ordinary forge. Such huge bellows must for certain hold a whirlwind; the anvil showed not a dent; and four hammers lay against the wall too heavy, he thought, to be wielded by any man. “I beg you to proceed with your business, Martin Barrow,” he went on, “for my horse needs help at once.”
“Not I,” laughed the smith scornfully. “I have forged the greatest swords that ever flashed in the sun. Mine are the horses’ shoes which have fought through many a battle. Now is my rest. I do no more!”
“But this forge,” cried the knight, “this anvil, these hammers—”
“For the pleasure of the many travellers who come to look on the forge of Martin Barrow!” So saying, the smith gulped down the last of his ale and turned away.
The knight flushed with anger, but he made no answer. Silently he took the bridle of his horse and the two pushed out again into the night. Neither had thought he could go further, but strength of the spirit is a strange thing. Such courage is never without its reward, and they had not gone far when there shone a faint glimmer by the roadside. The light seemed too small at first to be that of a forge, but as they came nearer the slow striking of a hammer echoed through the dark. Reaching the doorway, the knight saw an old man pounding away at his anvil.
“Good sir,” he said, as the smith paused in his work, “we have come far, and my horse is in great pain. Will you please shoe him with the best shoes you can forge?”
“That I will, Sir Knight,” he replied, and quickly set about his work. As he did so, the knight looked about him: he noticed the small little fire, the chipped anvil, and one poor hammer. And the smith was a bent old man—one who should long since have been awaiting in rest the near approach of death. He thought of Martin Barrow—his shining forge, and his glass of ale.
Soon the horse was shod, and the knight offered the smith some silver coins, all but one of which he refused.
“Great thanks to you,” said the knight. “I have yet to meet as fine and generous a smith. May I ask what name men call you by?”