tavern, but his features would relax into a look of fondness. He turned
his head the other way, and the cold black country seemed to frown him
off, and drive him for a refuge into its hospitable arms.

'The merciful man, Joe,' said the locksmith, 'is merciful to his beast.
I'll get out for a little while.'

And how natural it was to get out! And how unnatural it seemed for a
sober man to be plodding wearily along through miry roads, encountering
the rude buffets of the wind and pelting of the rain, when there was
a clean floor covered with crisp white sand, a well swept hearth, a
blazing fire, a table decorated with white cloth, bright pewter flagons,
and other tempting preparations for a well-cooked meal--when there were
these things, and company disposed to make the most of them, all ready
to his hand, and entreating him to enjoyment!



Chapter 3


Such were the locksmith's thoughts when first seated in the snug corner,
and slowly recovering from a pleasant defect of vision--pleasant,
because occasioned by the wind blowing in his eyes--which made it a
matter of sound policy and duty to himself, that he should take refuge
from the weather, and tempted him, for the same reason, to aggravate
a slight cough, and declare he felt but poorly. Such were still his
thoughts more than a full hour afterwards, when, supper over, he still
sat with shining jovial face in the same warm nook, listening to the
cricket-like chirrup of little Solomon Daisy, and bearing no unimportant