Most of the horses were very patient; but a few would plunge and kick and rear when approached. These Matthew himself shod and, under his skilful handling, they would quiet down immediately. He had only to put his hand on the mane and whisper a few words in the ear. It was probably the hand and voice which soothed them; but it was generally believed that he whispered some charm which had power over them, and he rather encouraged this idea by saying when questioned: “I only speaks to ‘em in their own language.”

The local horses were all known to the men and addressed by them by name. Even the half-yearly bills were made out: “To So-and-So, Esq. For shoeing Violet, or Poppet, or Whitefoot, or The Grey Lady.” “All round,” or “fore,” or “hind,” as the case might demand. Strings of horseshoes, made in quiet intervals, hung upon the shop walls, apparently ready to put on; but there was usually some little alteration to be made on the anvil while the horse waited. “No two horses’ feet are exactly alike,” Matthew told Laura. “They have their little plagues and peculiarities, like you and me do.” And the parting words from man to beast were often: “There, old girl, that’s better. You’ll be able to run ten miles without stopping with them shoes on your feet.”

Other items which figured in the bills were making hinges for doors, flaps for drains, gates and railings and tools and household requirements. On one occasion a bill was sent out for “Pair of Park Gates to your own design, £20,” and Matthew said it should have been fifty, for he had worked on them for months, staying in the shop hours after the outer door was closed, and rising early to fit in another hour or two before the ordinary work of the day began. But it was a labour of love, and, after they were hung, he had his reward when he, who so seldom went out for pleasure, dressed on a Sunday and took a walk that way in order to admire and enjoy his own handicraft.

So the days went on, and, secure in the knowledge of their own importance in the existing scheme of things, the blacksmiths boasted: “Come what may, a good smith’ll never want for a job, for whatever may come of this new cast-iron muck in other ways, the horses’ll always have to be shod, and they can’t do that in a foundry!”