Then to the wedges they set. And Colin worked like three. He never knew how he could work before. Not a moment’s pause, except when the smith was at the forge for another glowing mass! And yet, to Colin’s amazement, the more he worked the stronger he seemed to grow. Instead of being worn out, the moment he had got his breath he wanted to be at it again; and he felt as if he had grown twice the size since he took hammer in hand. And the goblins kept running in and out all the time, now for one thing, now for another. Colin thought if they made use of all the tools they fetched, they must be working very hard indeed: And the convulsions felt in the smithy bore witness to their exertions somewhere in the neighbourhood.
And the longer they worked together, the more friendly grew the smith. At length he said—his words always adding energy to his blows—
“What does the old woman want to improve Stonestarvit Moss for?”
“I didn’t know she did want to improve it,” returned Colin.
“Why, anybody may see that. First, she wants Cumberbone Crag a yard higher—just enough to send the northeast blast over the Moss without touching it. Then she wants a hot flue passed under it. Plain as a forehammer!—What did you ask her to do for you? She’s always doing things for people and making my bones ache.”
“You don’t seem to mind it much, though, sir,” said Colin.
“No more I do,” answered the smith, with a blow that drove the anvil halfway into the earth, from which it took him some trouble to drag it out again. “But I want to know what she is after now.”
So Colin told him all he knew about it, which was merely his own story.
“I see, I see,” said the smith. “It’s all moonshine; but we must do as she says notwithstanding. And now it is my turn to give you a lift, for you