as I came down to work, I used to see her
sitting in the bow-window, behind the white
curtain, working with her needle. There she
would be all the morning, for at that time
there was nothing doing down-stairs, and,
every now and again, she would be taking a
sly look over at the Forge where Ding Dong
Will was swinging his great sledge, and
trolling his Hammer and anvil! lads, yoho!
He was well worth looking out at, was Ding
Dong Will. I used to tell him, “Mary Arthur
is making eyes at you yonder—have a care,
Will.” And he would laugh loud, and say,
“She may find better sport elsewhere. No
sweethearts for me, lad. Hand the file. Sing
Hammer and anvil, yoho!”

I never saw so insensible a fellow, never.
But her liking slipped out in more ways than
that. Whenever I went in, she was always
taking notice of me, and asking about myself.
How was I getting on at the Forge? Did I
like the business? Did we do much? What
kind was he, the other—he with the curious
name? Then she would laugh, and show her
white teeth.

At last, one Saturday evening I was sitting
in the porch, looking at the children playing
in the road, when I heard a step at the
back, and there was Mary Arthur standing
behind me. “Resting after the week?” she said.

“Yes, and a hard week we’ve had of it.”

“Nothing doing at the Forge now, I
suppose,” says she. (He had gone down to the
green with the young fellows to throw the
bar.)

“No,” says I; “we’ve let the fire out, and
will rest till Monday.”

She stayed silent for a minute, and then
—“Why does he—Whichelo I mean—keep
shut up that way at home?” She was
beating her hands impatiently together.
“What does it all mean? What do you make
of it?”

I stared, you may be sure, she spoke so
sharply.

“Does he never go out and see the world—
go to dances or merry-makings?”

“No,” said I; “never.”

“Well,” said she, “isn't it odd; how do you
account for it?”

“Well, it is odd,” I said.

“And he so young?”

All this while she was shifting her black
eyes in a restless kind of way.

“You should try,” says she, “and get him
to mix more with the others, for your own
sake as well as his.”

I was going to tell her I was at him morning,
noon, and night, when the bell rang, and
she tripped off.

Ding Dong Will came into the Forge that
night, fairly tired and done up. “Beat them
as usual!” he said, as he flung himself down
on the bench.

“I knew you would,” I said.

“But it was thirsty work: some drink, for
Heaven’s sake!”

“There’s not a drop of malt in the house,”
I said.

“Well, go over and fetch some.”

Said I, “Go yourself. I tell you what,
there’s a nice girl there always talking of
you; and, if you’ve anything of a man about
you, you’ll go over and speak her softly, and
show her you’re not what she takes you for.
Now, there’s my mind for you, Ding Dong
Will.”

“Stuff,” says he, laughing; “let her mind
her own business, and leave me to my anvil.
I'll not go.”

“Ah! you’re afraid,” said I—“that’s it!”

“Afraid,” says he, starting up; “you
know I'm not—you know I’m not. Here,
I’ll go,” and made straight for the door.
“Stop,” he said, turning round, “what did
she say about taking me for a different sort
of man?”

“No matter now,” said I. “When you come
back.”

It should have been a five minutes’ job,
that fetching the malt. But, would you
believe it? he was close upon an hour about it.
I knew well she had not been losing her
time. When he came in, I began at once at
him: “Ah, ah!” said I, “didn't I tell you?
I knew it!”

“Nonsense,” said he, with a foolish kind
of laugh, “it was none of my fault. She
kept me there with her talk, and I couldn’t
get away.”

“O, poor Ding Dong Will,” I said, “You
had better have stayed away, after all!”

“Folly!” says he, laughing more foolishly
still; “you’ll see if she gets me there again.
Enough about her. There!”

I saw he was uneasy in his mind, and so
gave him no more trouble. But I needn’t
have been so delicate with him at all, for
next day it was quite the other way. He
never gave me peace or rest, sounding me
and picking out of me what she had said of
him. The man was clean gone from that
hour. It’s always the way with those kind
of men: when they are touched, they run off
like a bit of melted metal.

He got worse every day from that out.
He was in and out of the Joyful Heart half
his time, always on some excuse or other,
and going lazily to his work, stopping every
now and again to have a look at the white
curtain over the way. It was a poor thing to
see him—it was indeed; I was ashamed of
him. At last he came to doing nothing at
all, or next to nothing; and the great hammer
was laid by in a corner.

Well, this went on, it might be for a month,
and folks in the village began to talk and wink,
and say, what would come next, now that
Ding Dong Will was caught at last. I tried
to keep things going as well as I could, but
it was of very little use. The business fell
off; and I never will forget the sinking feel
I got when the riders began to go straight
on through the village—past the old Forge—