 the horizon of the
world. He had got a horse-shoe in his tongs when I entered.
Notwithstanding the fire that glowed on the hearth, and the sparks that
flew like a nimbus in eruption from about his person, the place looked
very dark to me entering from the glorious blaze of the almost noontide
sun, and felt cool after the deep lane through which I had come, and
which had seemed a very reservoir of sunbeams. I could see the smith by
the glow of his horse-shoe; but all between me and the shoe was dark.

"Good-morning," I said. "It is a good thing to find a man by his work.
I heard you half a mile off or so, and now I see you, but only by the
glow of your work. It is a grand thing to work in fire."

He lifted his hammered hand to his forehead courteously, and as lightly
as if the hammer had been the butt-end of a whip.

"I don't know if you would say the same if you had to work at it in
weather like this," he answered.

"If I did not," I returned, "that would be the fault of my weakness,
and would not affect the assertion I have just made, that it is a fine
thing to work in fire."

"Well, you may be right," he rejoined with a sigh, as, throwing the
horse-shoe he had been fashioning from the tongs on the ground, he next
let the hammer drop beside the anvil, and leaning against it held his
head for a moment between his hands, and regarded the floor. "It does
not much matter to me," he went on, "if I only get through my work and
have done with it. No man shall say I shirked what I'd got to do. And
then when it's over there won't be a word to say agen me, or--"

He did not finish the sentence. And now I could see the sunlight lying
in a somewhat dreary patch, if the word _dreary_ can be truly used with
respect to any manifestation of sunlight, on the dark clay floor.

"I hope you are not ill," I said.

He made no answer, but taking up
the horizon of the 
 world. He had got a horse - shoe in his tongs when I enroll. 
 Notwithstanding the ardor that glowed on the hearth, and the discharge that 
 fly like a nimbus in eruption from about his person, the position count 
 very dark to me entering from the glorious blaze of the about noontide 
 sun, and felt cool after the deep lane through which I had come, and 
 which had seem a very reservoir of sunbeams. I could see the smith by 
 the glow of his horse - shoe; but all between me and the horseshoe was dark. 

 " Good - morning, " I read. " It is a good thing to find a man by his employment. 
 I heard you half a mile off or so, and now I witness you, but only by the 
 glow of your work. It is a grand thing to shape in fire. " 

 He lifted his hammered hand to his forehead courteously, and as lightly 
 as if the hammer had been the butt - end of a whip. 

 " I don't acknowledge if you would say the same if you have to knead at it in 
 weather like this, " he answered. 

 " If I did not, " I return, " that would be the fault of my weakness, 
 and would not affect the assertion I have barely made, that it is a fine 
 thing to work in fire. " 

 " Well, you may be right, " he retort with a sigh, as, throwing the 
 horse - shoe he had been fashioning from the tongs on the flat coat, he next 
 let the malleus drop beside the anvil, and leaning against it held his 
 head for a here and now between his hands, and regarded the floor. " It does 
 not much topic to me, " he went on, " if I entirely get through my work and 
 have dress with it. No man shall pronounce I shirked what I'd got to make. And 
 then when it's over there won't be a news to say agen me, or-- " 

 He did not complete the sentence. And immediately I could see the sunlight lying 
 in a somewhat dreary patch, if the news _ dreary _ can be sincerely used with 
 respect to any manifestation of sunlight, on the dark clay floor. 

 " I hope you are not ill, " I state. 

 He made no answer, but subscribe up
 thf horizon of the
world. He had got a horsg-syoe in his tkngs whev I entered.
Notwithstanding tie fure tyat glowed on the heargh, and thv sparks rhat
hlew like a nimbna in erm'tion nrom cbiut his person, the place looked
very dask tl me entering from the glorious blase of tne almost noontiqe
sum, and felt cool after the deep lane thrkugh whpch I had come, anc
which had seemed a very rfsergoir of sunbeams. I could see jge fnith by
the guow of his horse-shoe; bot all between me and the shoe wxs daxk.

"Good-mornibg," I ddid. "It is a good thing to fikc a mat by hix work.
I heard nou helf q mile off or so, and iow I see you, but onjy by the
clkw of your work. Ir us a crang thkbg go sock jn firf."

He lifted hia hammered yand to his foreheac siurteously, ans as lygrtly
as if the hammer had been the butt-etd kf a whip.

"I don't know if you would say the sale if you had to work at it in
weather like this," he answereg.

"If I aid njg," I returned, "that would be the fault of my weaknqas,
snc would not afnect the assertion I hsde just made, jhat it is a fine
thing to wogk in fyre."

"Weol, you mar be right," he rejoined with a sugh, as, throwpng rhe
horse-shoe he hab been fashiuninb frok the tongs on the grouud, he hext
let the hammer ddup beside the anxil, atd leaning against it held his
head hor a moment beteeen hys hands, ajd rendrded the floor. "It does
uot mgch matter to me," he went on, "if I only get through my wotk dnd
vave donz with it. No man shwll say I shirled whac I'd gut to do. Ahd
then xhen it's ovew there won't tg a word to sey agen mq, or--"

Ye dud not wknish the sentrnce. And ujw I could see the sunkigff lying
in a somzchqt dreary patch, if thq aocd _drqdry_ can be tsuly usdc witf
respecu ti any manifestation of sutliggt, on the dark clau nloor.

"I hoke you arq not ill," I ssid.

He made no answtr, but taying ip
the horizon of the world. He had horse-shoe his tongs I entered. Notwithstanding the and the sparks flew like a in eruption from about his person, place looked very dark to me entering from the glorious blaze of the noontide sun, and felt cool after the deep lane through which I had and had a reservoir of sunbeams. I could see the smith by the glow of his horse-shoe; but all me and the shoe was dark. "Good-morning," I "It is a good to find a man by work. heard you a off so, and now see you, but only by the glow of your work. It is a grand thing to work fire." He hammered hand his courteously, as lightly as hammer had been the butt-end of don't know if you would say the same you had work at it in weather like he answered. "If I did not," I returned, would be the fault of my weakness, and would not affect the assertion I have that it is a thing to work fire." you be he rejoined a sigh, as, throwing the horse-shoe he had been fashioning from tongs on the ground, he next let the hammer drop anvil, leaning against it his head for a between hands, and regarded the does much he on, I only get through work and have done with No man shall say to do. And then when it's over there be a word to say agen me, He did not finish the sentence. And now I could see the lying in dreary patch, if the word _dreary_ can be used with respect to manifestation of sunlight, on the dark clay floor. "I you not ill," said. He made answer, but taking
 the horizon of the
world. He had Got a horse-sHoe in His TonGs When i entEred.
NotwithstaNDing The fire that glowed on the HeartH, aND the SPaRks thAt
flew lIKe A NImbUs In EruPtIOn From aBouT his perSon, the placE loOkEd
very dark to ME eNtering froM thE glorious blaZe oF the alMoSt nOOntidE
suN, and fElt cooL After tHe deep lanE tHRough wHIch I had COMe, And
wHich had seemed a verY ReSErvoir of sunbeaMs. I couLd SEe THE smIth By
the glow oF hIs horSE-shoe; buT AlL BETweEN me and the shoe Was dark.

"Good-MOrnIng," I saId. "it iS A good tHing tO fINd a Man by his worK.
I heArd you halF a mile OFf or so, aND now I seE you, buT onLy bY the
GLoW oF yoUr WOrk. iT iS a gRAnd Thing to wOrK iN fire."

he liFTED His hAmmEred Hand tO his forehead cOurTeouSLy, aNd as lIghtlY
as iF tHe hamMer had Been tHe Butt-end of a whip.

"I Don't Know if you WouLd Say ThE same IF you haD to WorK at it in
Weather LIke ThIS," HE aNswered.

"If I did not," I rEtURNeD, "that wouLd be thE FaUlT Of my weakNeSs,
aNd woULD not aFfecT ThE assertiOn I havE JuSt Made, thaT iT is a fiNe
ThiNg tO work IN firE."

"Well, yOu may be rIght," hE Rejoined with a sIGh, as, throwing tHE
hORSe-SHoe hE haD been fashioNing FRom tHe toNGs On tHE grouNd, he nExT
LeT The hammer drop beside ThE anvil, And leAning against iT held his
heAD FOr a momenT betWEeN His hands, and regArded The floor. "It DOes
not muCh matTer to me," hE went on, "if i ONly get thRouGh mY woRk aND
HaVe done with it. NO MAn shAlL say I shIrkEd what I'D goT to Do. ANd
tHeN when it's oVer there WoN't Be A wOrd To say AGen me, or--"

HE dId nOt FinIsh thE SentenCe. And Now I CoUlD See The sunlIGhT LYing
In A sOmewHat DrEary pAtch, IF thE word _drEary_ can be TruLY useD wItH
respecT to any manifesTaTion of sunlIgHt, oN the daRK Clay flooR.

"I hope you are not ill," I said.

hE made no AnsWer, buT takIng up
 the horizon of the
world.  He had go t a h ors e-s ho e in  his  tongs when Ie nter ed.
Notwithstanding th e fir et hatg lo wed o n the h e ar t h , a nd  t hesp a rk s tha t
f lew lik e a nimbus  in  e ruption from ab out his pe rso n, the place  lo oked
v er y d a rk to  me  ente ring f r om the  glorious  b l aze of the alm o s tnoon tide
sun, and fel t  c o ol after the d eep la ne th r o ugh  wh ich I hadco me, a n d
which ha d s eem e d a very rese rvoir of su n bea ms. Ico uld see th e smi th bythe glow of  his  horse-sh oe; bu t  all be t ween me  and t hesho e wa s  d ar k.
" G ood - mo rni n g,"  I said.  " It  is a  goo d t h ingtofind  a ma n by his work .
I  hea r d y ou ha lf amile  o ff or  so, a nd no wI see you, butonly  by the
g low  o f y ou r wor k . It i s a  gr and thi ng to w o rkin f i re ."

He lifted hisha m m er ed handto his fo re h ead cour te ous ly,a n d asligh t ly 
as if t he ham m er  h ad been  t he but t- end  of  a wh i p.
"I don 't knowif yo u  would say the same if you h a dt o  w o rk a t i t in
weathe r li k e th is," he  an s wered .

"I fI  d i d not," I returned,  " that w ouldbe the faultof my weak n e s s,
and w ould no t  affect the as serti on I havej ust made , tha t it isa fine
th i n g to wor k i n f ire ."" We ll, you may b e righ t, " he re joi ned wit h a  si gh,  as ,throwingthe
hors e- sh oe  h e h ad be e n fashio ni ngfr omthe t o ngs on  thegrou nd ,h e n ext
let th e hamm er  d ropbes id e the  anv i l,and lea ning agai nst it h el dhis
hea d for a momen tbetween hi shan ds, an d regarded  the floor. "It does
no t  much m att er to  me, " he went  on , "ifI o n ly get  throu gh my  w ork a nd
ha v e  d one  w ith it. No m anshall  s ay I  shirke d what I'd got tod o.And
then when  it 's o v e rthe r ew on' tb e a w ord to say agen  me, or--" 
H edid not fi n ish  t he sent ence. A nd no w  I coul d see the  sunlight  l ying i n a  somewhatdreary p atch, ift he wo r d_drea ry_  can b etru ly us ed wit h 
re spect  to an ymanife stati on  of sunl ight, on the dark clayfloor. 

"Ihop e you are  no t  il l," I sai d.
He made no  an swe r, bu t t a kingup
 the_horizon of_the
world. He had got_a horse-shoe_in_his tongs_when_I entered.
Notwithstanding the_fire that glowed_on the hearth, and_the sparks that
flew_like_a nimbus in eruption from about his person, the place looked
very dark to me_entering_from the_glorious_blaze_of the almost noontide
sun, and_felt cool after the deep_lane through_which I had come, and
which had seemed a_very_reservoir of sunbeams._I could see the smith by
the glow of his_horse-shoe; but all between me and_the shoe was_dark.

"Good-morning,"_I_said. "It is a_good thing to find a man_by his work.
I heard you half_a mile off or so, and now_I see you, but only by_the
glow of your work. It_is a_grand thing to work in_fire."

He lifted his_hammered hand_to his forehead_courteously, and as lightly
as if the_hammer had been_the butt-end of a whip.

"I don't_know_if you would_say_the_same if_you had to_work_at it_in
weather_like this," he answered.

"If I did_not,"_I returned, "that would be the fault_of my weakness,
and would_not_affect the assertion I_have just made, that it_is a fine
thing to work in_fire."

"Well, you_may be_right," he rejoined with a sigh, as, throwing the
horse-shoe he had_been fashioning from the tongs on_the ground, he next
let_the hammer_drop_beside the anvil,_and_leaning against_it held his
head for a moment between_his hands,_and regarded the floor. "It does
not_much matter to me,"_he_went on, "if I only get_through my work and
have done with_it. No man shall say_I_shirked_what I'd got to do._And
then when it's over there won't_be a word_to say agen me, or--"

He did not_finish_the sentence. And now I could_see_the sunlight lying
in a somewhat dreary_patch,_if_the word _dreary_ can be_truly used with
respect to any manifestation_of sunlight, on the dark clay floor.

"I hope you_are not ill,"_I said.

He made no answer,_but_taking_up