anvil down halfway into the earth, as the giant smith in the story did.

While this was going on, Mr Macmichael, perceiving that the operation
ought not to be interrupted any more than a surgical one, stood quite
still waiting, and Willie stood also--absorbed in staring, and gradually
creeping nearer and nearer to the anvil, for there were no sparks flying
about to make it dangerous to the eyes, as there would have been if they
had been striking the iron itself instead of the punch.

As soon as the punch was driven through, and the smith had dropped his
sledge-hammer, and begun to wipe his forehead, Willie spoke.

"Mr Willet," he said, for he knew every man of any standing in the
village by name and profession, "why did you put bits of coal into the
hole you were making? I should have thought it would be in the way
rather than help you."

"So it would, my little man," answered Willet, with no grim though grimy
smile, "if it didn't take fire and keep getting out of the way all the
time it kept up the heat. You see we depend on the heat for getting
through, and it's much less trouble to drop a bit of coal or two into
the hole, than to take up the big axle and lay it in the fire again, not
to mention the time and the quantity of coal it would take to heat it up
afresh."

"But such little bits of coal couldn't do much?" said Willie.

"They could do enough, and all that's less after that is saving," said
the smith, who was one of those men who can not only do a thing right
but give a reason for it. "You see I was able to put the little bits