“I will make no conditions with thee, thou ugly varlet!” said Tressilian; “I will have thee at my mercy in a moment.”

“Aha, Master Traveller,” said the boy, “there is a marsh hard by would swallow all the horses of the Queen’s guard.  I will into it, and see where you will go then.  You shall hear the bittern bump, and the wild-drake quack, ere you get hold of me without my consent, I promise you.”

Tressilian looked out, and, from the appearance of the ground behind the hillock, believed it might be as the boy said, and accordingly determined to strike up a peace with so light-footed and ready-witted an enemy.  “Come down,” he said, “thou mischievous brat!  Leave thy mopping and mowing, and, come hither.  I will do thee no harm, as I am a gentleman.”

The boy answered his invitation with the utmost confidence, and danced down from his stance with a galliard sort of step, keeping his eye at the same time fixed on Tressilian’s, who, once more dismounted, stood with his horse’s bridle in his hand, breathless, and half exhausted with his fruitless exercise, though not one drop of moisture appeared on the freckled forehead of the urchin, which looked like a piece of dry and discoloured parchment, drawn tight across the brow of a fleshless skull.

“And tell me,” said Tressilian, “why you use me thus, thou mischievous imp? or what your meaning is by telling me so absurd a legend as you wished but now to put on me?  Or rather show me, in good earnest, this smith’s forge, and I will give thee what will buy thee apples through the whole winter.”

“Were you to give me an orchard of apples,” said Dickie Sludge, “I can guide thee no better than I have done.  Lay down the silver token on the flat stone—­whistle three times—­then come sit down on the western side of the thicket of gorse.  I will sit by you, and give you free leave to wring my head off, unless you hear the smith at work within two minutes after we are seated.”

“I may be tempted to take thee at thy word,” said Tressilian, “if you make me do aught half so ridiculous for your own mischievous sport; however, I will prove your spell.  Here, then, I tie my horse to this upright stone.  I must lay my silver groat here, and whistle three times, sayest thou?”

“Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an unfledged ousel,” said the boy, as Tressilian, having laid down his money, and half ashamed of the folly he practised, made a careless whistle—­“you must whistle louder than that, for who knows where the smith is that you call for?  He may be in the King of France’s stables for what I know.”

“Why, you said but now he was no devil,” replied Tressilian.

“Man or devil,” said Dickie, “I see that I must summon him for you;” and therewithal he whistled sharp and shrill, with an acuteness of sound that almost thrilled through Tressilian’s brain.  “That is what I call whistling,” said he, after he had repeated the signal thrice; “and now to cover, to cover, or Whitefoot will not be shod this day.”