returned to the dingle, without saying a word, followed by her.  Belle set about making preparations for breakfast; and I taking the kettle, went and filled it at the spring.  Having hung it over the fire, I went to the tent in which the postillion was still sleeping, and called upon him to arise.  He awoke with a start, and stared around him at first with the utmost surprise, not unmixed, I could observe, with a certain degree of fear.  At last, looking in my face, he appeared to recollect himself.  “I had quite forgot,” said he, as he got up, “where I was, and all that happened yesterday.  However, I remember now the whole affair, thunder-storm, thunder-bolt, frightened horses, and all your kindness.  Come, I must see after my coach and horses; I hope we shall be able to repair the damage.”  “The damage is already quite repaired,” said I, “as you will see, if you come to the field above.”  “You don’t say so,” said the postillion, coming out of the tent; “well, I am mightily beholden to you.  Good morning, young gentle-woman,” said he, addressing Belle, who, having finished her preparations, was seated near the fire.  “Good morning, young man,” said Belle, “I suppose you would be glad of some breakfast; however, you must wait a little, the kettle does not boil.”  “Come and look at your chaise,” said I; “but tell me how it happened that the noise which I have been making did not awake you; for three-quarters of an hour at least I was hammering close at your ear.”  “I heard you all the time,” said the postillion, “but your hammering made me sleep all the sounder; I am used to hear hammering in my morning sleep.  There’s a forge close by the room where I sleep when I’m at home, at my inn; for we have all kinds of conveniences at my inn—­forge, carpenter’s shop, and wheel-wright’s,—­so that when I heard you hammering I thought, no doubt, that it was the old noise, and that I was comfortable in my bed at my own inn.”  We now ascended to the field, where I showed the postillion his chaise.  He looked at the pin attentively, rubbed his hands, and gave a loud laugh.  “Is it not well done?” said I.  “It will do till I get home,” he replied.  “And that is all you have to say?” I demanded.  “And that’s a good deal,” said he, “considering who made it.  But don’t be offended,” he added, “I shall prize it all the more for its being made by a gentleman, and no blacksmith; and so will my governor, when I show it to him.  I shan’t let it remain where it is, but will keep it, as a remembrance of you, as long as I live.”  He then again rubbed his hands with great glee, and said, “I will now go and see after my horses, and then to breakfast, partner, if you please.”  Suddenly, however, looking at his hands, he said, “Before sitting down to breakfast I am in the habit of washing my hands and face:  I suppose you could not furnish me with a little soap and water.”  “As much water as you please,” said I, “but if you want soap, I must go and trouble