The Broad Highway - Page 296/374

"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.

"Peter."

"Yes, Ancient?"

"Some day--when that theer old stapil be all rusted away, an'

these old bones is a-restin' in the churchyard over to Cranbrook,

Peter--you'll think, sometimes, o' the very old man as was always

so full o' noos, won't 'ee, Peter?"

"Surely, Ancient, I shall never forget you," said I, and sighed.

"An' now, Peter," said the old man, extracting a pinch of snuff,

"now for the noos--'bout Black Jarge, it be."