barrel. 'But what is the man's calling, and where is he one of; that he
should come in and join us like this?'

'I don't know. I'll ask him again.'

The catastrophe of having the mug drained dry at one pull by the stranger
in cinder-gray was effectually guarded against this time by Mrs. Fennel.
She poured out his allowance in a small cup, keeping the large one at a
discreet distance from him. When he had tossed off his portion the
shepherd renewed his inquiry about the stranger's occupation.

The latter did not immediately reply, and the man in the chimney-corner,
with sudden demonstrativeness, said, 'Anybody may know my trade--I'm a
wheelwright.'

'A very good trade for these parts,' said the shepherd.

'And anybody may know mine--if they've the sense to find it out,' said
the stranger in cinder-gray.

'You may generally tell what a man is by his claws,' observed the hedge-
carpenter, looking at his own hands. 'My fingers be as full of thorns as
an old pin-cushion is of pins.'

The hands of the man in the chimney-corner instinctively sought the
shade, and he gazed into the fire as he resumed his pipe. The man at the
table took up the hedge-carpenter's remark, and added smartly, 'True; but
the oddity of my trade is that, instead of setting a mark upon me, it
sets a mark upon my customers.'