Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. Suspending his labour on Jack's appearance, the man demanded his business. Making up a similar story to that which he had told the old woman, he said he wanted to purchase a hammer and a file.
The man looked hard at him.
"Answer me one question first?" he said; "I half suspect you're Jack Sheppard."
"I am," replied Jack, without hesitation; for he felt assured from the man's manner that he might confide in him.
"You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. "But you've done well to trust me. I'll take off your irons—for I guess that's the reason why you want the hammer and file—on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you give 'em to me."
"Readily."
Taking Jack into a shed behind the workshop the smith in a short time freed him from his fetters. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale.
"I'm afraid, Jack, you'll come to the gallows," observed the smith; "buth if you do, I'll go to Tyburn to see you. But I'll never part with your irons."