“An’ then—­’is nose-’oles, Peter, jest cast your eye on them nose’oles, will ye; why, dang me! if I can’t ’ear ‘im a-snortin’ when I looks at ’em!  An’ ’e were all painted by a chap—­a little old chap wi’ gray whiskers—­no taller ’n your elber, Peter!  Think o’ that—­a little chap no taller ’n your elber!  I seen ’im do it wi’ my two eyes—­a-sittin’ on a box.  Drored t’ bull in wi’ a bit o’ chalk, first; then ‘e outs wi’ a couple o’ brushes; dab ‘e goes, an’ dab, dab again, an’—­by Goles! theer was a pair o’ eyes a-rollin’ theirselves at me—­just a pair o’ eyes, Peter.  Ah! ‘e were a wonder were that little old chap wi’ gray whiskers!  The way ‘e went at that theer bull, a-dabbin’ at ’im ‘ere, an’ a-dabbin’ at ’im theer till ’e come to ’is tail—­’e done ’is tail last of all, Peter.  ‘Give un a good tail!’ says I.  ’Ah! that I will,’ says ’e.  ‘An’ a good stiff un!’ says I.  ’Ye jest keep your eye on it, an’ watch!’ says ’e.  Talk about tails, Peter!  ’E put in that theer tail so quick as nigh made my eyes water, an’—­as for stiffness—­well, look at it!  I tell ’ee that chap could paint a bull wi’ ’is eyes shut, ah, that ‘e could! an’ ’im such a very small man wi’ gray whiskers.  No, ye don’t see many bulls like that un theer, I’m thinkin’, Peter?”

“They would be very hard to find!” said I, and sighed again.  Whereupon Silas sighed, for company’s sake, and nodding, went off about his many duties, whistling cheerily.

So I presently turned about and crossed the road to the smithy.  But upon the threshold I stopped all at once and drew softly back, for, despite the early hour, Prudence was there, upon her knees before the anvil, with George’s great hand-hammer clasped to her bosom, sobbing over it, and, while she sobbed, she kissed its worn handle.  And because such love was sacred and hallowed that dingy place, I took off my hat as I once more crossed the road.

Seeing “The Bull” was not yet astir, for the day was still young (as I say), I sat me down in the porch and sighed.

And after I had sat there for some while, with my chin sunk upon my breast, and plunged in bitter meditation, I became aware of the door opening, and next moment a tremulous hand was laid upon my head, and, looking round, I beheld the Ancient.

“Bless ’ee, Peter—­bless ‘ee, lad!—­an’ a old man’s blessin’ be no light thing—­’specially such a old, old man as I be—­an’ it bean’t often as I feels in a blessin’ sperrit—­but oh, Peter! ’twere me as found ye, weren’t it?”

“Why, to be sure it was, Ancient, very nearly five months ago.”

“An’ I be allus ready wi’ some noos for ye, bean’t I?”

“Yes, indeed!”

“Well, I got more noos for ’ee, Peter—­gert noos!”

“And what is it this time?”

“I be allus full up o’ noos, bean’t I?” he repeated.

“Yes, Ancient,” said I, and sighed; “and what is your news?”

“Why, first of all, Peter, jest reach me my snuff-box, will ’ee? —­’ere it be—­in my back ’ind pocket—­thankee! thankee!” Hereupon he knocked upon the lid with a bony knuckle.  “I du be that full o’ noos this marnin’ that my innards be all of a quake, Peter, all of a quake!” he nodded, saying which, he sat down close beside me.