Mrs. Margaret lifted up her hands and eyes, and then fetching a deep sigh, “That I should have lived to hear that,” she exclaimed; “the last representative of the house of Dymock proposing to work at a blacksmith’s forge!”

“And why not?  Mrs. Margaret,” replied the nephew, “does a gentleman lower himself when he works merely for recreation, and not for sordid pelf; you have heard of Peter the Great?”

“Bless me, nephew,” replied the spinster, bridling, “where do you think my ears have been all my life, if I never heard of Peter the Great!”

“You know then, that he worked with his own hands at a blacksmith’s forge,” returned the nephew.

“I know no such thing,” said Mrs. Margaret, “and if the Romans say so, I account it only another of their many lies; and I wonder they are not ashamed to invent tales so derogotary to the honour of him they call their head!”

“Pshaw!” said the laird; “I am not speaking of the Pope, but of the Czar of all the Russias!”

“Well! well!  Dymock;” returned Mrs. Margaret, “I only wish that I could persuade you from committing this derogation.  However, if you must needs work with Shanty, let me beg you to put on one of your old shirts; for the sparks will be sure to fly, and there will be no end of darning the small burns.”

“Be assured aunt,” said Mr. Dymock, “that I shall do nothing by halves; if I work with Shanty, I shall put on a leathern apron, and tuck up my sleeves.”

“All this does not suit my notions,” replied Mrs. Margaret:  but her nephew had risen to leave her, and there was an end to the argument.

As Mr. Dymock had told his aunt; so he did:  he went to Shanty’s forge, he dressed himself like the old master himself, and set fairly to work, to learn the mysteries of the trade; mysteries which, however, as far as Shanty knew them, were not very deep.

[Illustration:  He went to Shantys Forge See Page 14]

There has not often been a more ill-arranged and unsettled mind than that of Mr. Dymock; his delight was in anything new, and for a few days he would pursue this novelty with such eagerness, that during the time he seemed to forget every thing else.  It was a delicate job, and yet one requiring strength which was needed for the plough.  Shanty had told the laird at once, that it was beyond his own skill or strength, seeing that he was old and feeble, “and as to your doing it, sir,” he said, “who cannot yet shape a horse-shoe! you must serve longer than a week, before you get that much knowledge of the craft; there is no royal way to learning, and even for the making of a horse-shoe a ’prenticeship must be served, and I mistake me very much if you don’t tire before seven days service are over, let alone as many years.”

But, Mr. Dymock had as yet served only two days, when one evening a young man, a dark, athletic, bold-looking youth, entered the blacksmith’s shed.  It was an evening in autumn, and the shed was far from any house; Dymock’s tower was the nearest, and the sun was already so low that the old keep with its many mouldering walls, and out-buildings, was seen from the shed, standing in high relief against the golden sky.  As the young man entered, looking boldly about him, Shanty asked him what he wanted.