business, I forthwith set about my work. Selecting a piece of iron
which I thought would serve my purpose, I placed it in the fire,
and plying the bellows in a furious manner, soon made it hot; then
seizing it with the tongs, I laid it on my anvil, and began to beat
it with my hammer, according to the rules of my art. The dingle
resounded with my strokes. Belle sat still, and occasionally
smiled, but suddenly started up, and retreated towards her
encampment, on a spark which I purposely sent in her direction
alighting on her knee. I found the making of a linch-pin no easy
matter; it was, however, less difficult than the fabrication of a
pony-shoe; my work, indeed, was much facilitated by my having
another pin to look at. In about three-quarters of an hour I had
succeeded tolerably well, and had produced a linch-pin which I
thought would serve. During all this time, notwithstanding the
noise which I was making, the postillion never showed his face.
His non-appearance at first alarmed me: I was afraid he might be
dead, but, on looking into the tent, I found him still buried in
the soundest sleep. "He must surely be descended from one of the
seven sleepers," said I, as I turned away, and resumed my work. My
work finished, I took a little oil, leather, and sand, and polished
the pin as well as I could; then, summoning Belle, we both went to
the chaise, where, with her assistance, I put on the wheel. The
linch-pin which I had made fitted its place very well, and having
replaced the other, I gazed at the chaise for some time with my
heart full of that satisfaction which results from the
consciousness of having achieved a great action; then, after
looking at Belle in the hope of obtaining a compliment from her
lips, which did not come, I returned to the dingle, without saying
a word, followed by her. Belle set about making preparations for
breakfast; and I taking the kettle, went and filled it at the