unfortunate woman has been drinking."

"Why," I cried, "she has pulled the chaise up at the smithy. I'll
find out all the news for you;" and, catching up my cap, away I
scampered.

Champion Harrison had been shoeing a horse at the forge door, and
when I got into the street I could see him with the creature's hoof
still under his arm, and the rasp in his hand, kneeling down amid
the white parings. The woman was beckoning him from the chaise, and
he staring up at her with the queerest expression upon his face.
Presently he threw down his rasp and went across to her, standing by
the wheel and shaking his head as he talked to her. For my part, I
slipped into the smithy, where Boy Jim was finishing the shoe, and I
watched the neatness of his work and the deft way in which he turned
up the caulkens. When he had done with it he carried it out, and
there was the strange woman still talking with his uncle.

"Is that he?" I heard her ask.

Champion Harrison nodded.

She looked at Jim, and I never saw such eyes in a human head, so
large, and black, and wonderful. Boy as I was, I knew that, in
spite of that bloated face, this woman had once been very beautiful.
She put out a hand, with all the fingers going as if she were
playing on the harpsichord, and she touched Jim on the shoulder.

"I hope--I hope you're well," she stammered.