“Grandpa, guess what brought me to see you to-day?”

“I forgot my dinner, and you have trudged over here to bring it.  Ain’t I right, Pearl?  Stand back, honey, or this Satan of a horse may kick your brains out.  I can hardly manage him.”

Here the stranger uttered an oath, and called out, “How much longer do you intend to keep me waiting?”

“No longer, sir, than I can help, as I like the company of polite people.”

“Oh, grandpa!” whispered Edna, deprecatingly, as she saw the traveller come rapidly forward and throw his shawl down on the grass.  Mr. Hunt pushed back his old battered woolen hat, and looked steadily at the master of the horse—­saying gravely and resolutely: 

“I’ll finish the job as soon as I can, and that is as much as any reasonable man would ask.  Now, sir, if that doesn’t suit you, you can take your horse and put out, and swear at somebody else, for I won’t stand it.”

“It is a cursed nuisance to be detained here for such a trifle as one shoe, and you might hurry yourself.”

“Your horse is very restless and vicious, and I could shoe two gentle ones while I am trying to quiet him.”

The man muttered something indistinctly, and laying his hand heavily on the horse’s mane, said very sternly a few words, which were utterly unintelligible to his human listeners, though they certainly exerted a magical influence over the fiery creature, who, savage as the pampered pets of Diomedes, soon stood tranquil and contented, rubbing his head against his master’s shoulder.  Repelled by the rude harshness of this man, Edna walked into the shop, and watched the silent group outside, until the work was finished and Mr. Hunt threw down his tools and wiped his face.

“What do I owe you?” said the impatient rider, springing to his saddle, and putting his hand into his vest pocket.

“I charge nothing for ‘such trifles’ as that.”

“But I am in the habit of paying for my work.”

“It is not worth talking about.  Good day, sir.”

Mr. Hunt turned and walked into his shop.

“There is a dollar, it is the only small change I have.”  He rode up to the door of the shed, threw the small gold coin toward the blacksmith, and was riding rapidly away, when Edna darted after him, exclaiming, “Stop, sir! you have left your shawl!”

He turned in the saddle, and even under the screen of her calico bonnet she felt the fiery gleam of his eyes, as he stooped to take the shawl from her hand.  Once more his fingers touched his hat, he bowed and said hastily: 

“I thank you, child.”  Then spurring his horse, he was out of sight in a moment.

“He is a rude, blasphemous, wicked man,” said Mr. Hunt as Edna reentered the shop, and picked up the coin, which lay glistening amid the cinders around the anvil.

“Why do you think him wicked?”

“No good man swears as he did, before you came; and didn’t you notice the vicious, wicked expression of his eyes?”