The red-faced, white-whiskered, jolly old Simon stood at the smithy door to receive her. He had been watching for her, and had heard the gentle trot over the few yards of road that brought her in sight. With a merry greeting he helped her down from the great mare. She would have shaken hands with him, but he would not. It would make her glove as black as his apron, he said. Barbara immediately pulled off her glove and gave him her dainty little hand, which the blacksmith took at once, being too much of a gentleman not to know where respect gives way to rudeness. He clasped the lovely loan with the sturdy reverence of his true old heart, saying her hand should pay for her footing in the trade.

“Lord, miss, I’ll be proud to make a smith of you!” he said. “Only you must do nothing but shoe! I can’t let you spoil your hands! And here comes Dick for his part.”

“Stop, Mr. Armour!” cried Barbara. “When you see me shoe Miss Brown, perhaps you won’t care to talk about woman’s work again!”

Richard came up, brought Miss Brown in, and put her in her place. The smith knew exactly what sort and size of shoes she wanted, and had them already so far finished that but a touch or so was necessary to make them an absolute fit. Barbara tucked up her skirt, and secured it with her belt. But this would not satisfy Simon. He had a little leather apron ready for her, and nothing would satisfy him but that she protected herself entirely from the dirt. Until this was done, he would not allow her to touch hammer or nail.

Richard did not offer to put on the first shoe. He believed she had watched the operation so often that she must know perfectly what to do. And he was not disappointed. She proceeded like an adept smith. Happily, Miss Brown was very good. She was neither hungry nor thirsty, and had had just enough exercise to make her willing to stand and breathe for a while. Richard hardly found himself astonished, after all her careful observation, at Barbara’s coolness as she tucked the great hoof under her arm, or even at the accurate aim which brought the right sort of blow down on the head of nail after nail. But he was astonished at the strength of her little hand, the hardness of her muscles, and the knowing skill with which she twisted off the ends of the nails: the quick turn necessary.

Very quickly the mare was shod without accident, and Richard felt no anxiety as he lifted the little lady to her back. She cantered away as if she had been presented with fresh feathery wings instead of new iron shoes.