[Original]
Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the time that the hammer continued to sound, being about the space usually employed in fixing a horse-shoe. But the instant the sound ceased, Tressilian, instead of interposing the space of time which his guide had required, started up with his sword in his hand, ran round the thicket, and confronted a man in a farrier's leathern apron, but otherwise fantastically attired in a bear-skin dressed with the fur on, and a cap of the same, which almost hid the sooty and begrimed features of the wearer. “Come back, come back!” cried the boy to Tressilian, “or you will be torn to pieces; no man lives that looks on him.” In fact, the invisible smith (now fully visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed symptoms of doing battle.
But when the boy observed that neither his own entreaties nor the menaces of the farrier appeared to change Tressilian's purpose, but that, on the contrary, he confronted the hammer with his drawn sword, he exclaimed to the smith in turn, “Wayland, touch him not, or you will come by the worse!—the gentleman is a true gentleman, and a bold.”
“So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?” said the smith; “it shall be the worse for thee!”
“Be who thou wilt,” said Tressilian, “thou art in no danger from me, so thou tell me the meaning of this practice, and why thou drivest thy trade in this mysterious fashion.”
The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, exclaimed, in a threatening tone, “Who questions the Keeper of the Crystal Castle of Light, the Lord of the Green Lion, the Rider of the Red Dragon? Hence!—avoid thee, ere I summon Talpack with his fiery lance, to quell, crush, and consume!” These words he uttered with violent gesticulation, mouthing, and flourishing his hammer.
“Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant!” replied Tressilian scornfully, “and follow me to the next magistrate, or I will cut thee over the pate.”
“Peace, I pray thee, good Wayland!” said the boy. “Credit me, the swaggering vein will not pass here; you must cut boon whids.” [“Give good words.”—SLANG DIALECT.]
“I think, worshipful sir,” said the smith, sinking his hammer, and assuming a more gentle and submissive tone of voice, “that when so poor a man does his day's job, he might be permitted to work it out after his own fashion. Your horse is shod, and your farrier paid—what need you cumber yourself further than to mount and pursue your journey?”
“Nay, friend, you are mistaken,” replied Tressilian; “every man has a right to take the mask from the face of a cheat and a juggler; and your mode of living raises suspicion that you are both.”