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“Ay, verily,” saith I. “But how wilt do ‘t?” saith I.

“I’ll do ‘t, never fear,” saith she.

And a did, comrade. Ha! ha! I’d trust that wench to make Satan keep to heel like any well-broke puppy. ‘Twas in this way. The next time th’ gallant comes riding up (that being th’ seventh time in all, ye mind)–well, the next time up comes riding he, and he saith to her, saith he, “I have come to ask thy service yet again, damsel,” saith he; “but Merrylegs hath cast another shoe.”

Then saith th’ lass–ha! ha!–every word as I tell thee, comrade–saith she, “Methinks, my lord, if my work hold no better than that–methinks,” saith she, “’twere as well thou went for th’ shoeing o’ thy horse to Timothy Makeshift, as lives in Marigold Lane,” saith she. “For if it come to th’ ears o’ others how that I will shoe a horse one day, and th’ next how that he will cast th’ shoe–if it so be known,” saith she, “no more custom will I get to keep my father and mother in their old age.”

Then doth he leap down from his horse, and he doffs his hat as though my lass had been any fine lady; and quoth he,

“Well and justly hast thou spoken; and I do stand confessed of my fault. But, maiden, thou wast not born unto th’ life thou leadest; and here in thy presence I do ask thy father to bestow upon me thy hand. I am Sir Dagonet Balfour, of Balfour Hall; and if thou art willing I will make thee my lady.”

Now, I was struck dumb as though my tongue had jumped forth o’ my mouth, and never a blessed thing could I do saving stare, comrade. But that lass o’ mine–that lass o’ mine, comrade–she stands and looks at him, and never so much as a glint o’ red in her face. And saith she, “My lord,” saith she, “if that thou meanest what thou hast said, thou hast forgotten thine estate and not remembered mine. Since God hath not made me a lady, methinks it is not in the power o’ one o’ His creatures so to do. But I do thank thee for seeking to honor me, and wish thee joy when thou shalt take in wedlock some highborn maiden.”

Then saith he, “An I wed not thee, ne’er will I be wed. What! dost thou think I can look on in patience and see a woman such as thou following the trade of a farrier?”

Then saith she, “If Jesus Christ followed th’ trade o’ a carpenter,” saith she, “sure,” saith she, “Keren Lemon can follow th’ trade o’ a farrier,” saith she–every blessed word as I tell thee, comrade. And no more would she have to do with him, but got her into th’ forge and left him standing there.

Well, thou might ‘a’ thought that was th’ end o’t. Not a bit–not a bit, comrade. Th’ knight would be a-riding up at all times and in all weather, and somehow ‘t gets out i’ th’ village (though not through my lass, I warrant ye) as how he doth in verity seek to espouse my Keren. Well, o’ all th’ tirrits and to-do’s as e’er you heard on!

Methought when Mistress Lemon found out that th’ girl had refused th’ gallant’s offer th’ house would be a tighter fit for us three than its shell for an unhatched chick. ‘Twas worry, worry, worry, from morn till night, and from night till morn it was worry, worry, worry, till I scarce knew whether ‘twould be better to murder my wife and hang for ‘t, or leave her alone and live with her.

“Th’ hussy!” quoth she–“th’ ungrateful hussy! a ought to be tossed in a blanket,” quoth she, “and thou along with her, thou jack-pudding, thou ravelling!” quoth she.

“If I be a jack-pudding,” saith I, “I ha’ more descendants than most such,” saith I.