"Well," said the Smith, "I say now, as I said before, you are not such a bad smith after all. There it stands over my door—Here dwells the Master over all Masters; but for all that, I say right out, one learns as long as one lives;" and with that he walked off to his house and ate his dinner.
So after dinner, just after he had got back to his forge, a man came riding up to have his horse shod.
"It shall be done in the twinkling of an eye," said the Smith, "for I have just learnt a new way to shoe; and a very good way it is when the days are short."
So he began to cut and hack till he had got all the horse's legs off, for he said, I don't know why one should go pottering backwards and forwards—first with one leg, and then with another.
Then he laid the legs in the furnace, just as he had seen our Lord lay them, and threw on a great heap of coal, and made his mates work the bellows bravely; but it went as one might suppose it would go. The legs were burnt to ashes, and the Smith had to pay for the horse.
Well, he didn't care much about that, but just then an old beggar-woman came along the road, and he thought to himself, "Better luck next time;" so he took the old dame and laid her in the furnace, and though she begged and prayed hard for her life, it was no good.
"You're so old, you don't know what is good for you," said the Smith; "now you shall be a lovely young maiden in half no time, and for all that, I'll not charge you a penny for the job."
But it went no better with the poor old woman than with the horse's legs.
"That was ill done, and I say it." said our Lord.
