d i' the fiery furnace
with th' men in holy writ. And when a pounded away at a shoe, and her
young arm going like a flail--chink, chank--chink, chank--and th' white
spatters o' hot iron flying this way and that from th' anvil, meseemed
'twas as though Dame Venus (for thou knowest how in th' masque twelve
year gone this Yuletide 'twas shown as how a great dame called Venus did
wed wi' a farrier called Vulcan--I wot thou rememberest?)--as though
Dame Venus had taken away her hammer from her goodman Vulcan to do 's
work for him. By my troth, 'twas a sight to make a picture of--that
'twas, comrade.

Well, ne'er saw I such trouble as that arm gave me (and 't has ne'er
been strong since). First 'twould not knit, and then when 't did 'twas
all wrong, and had to be broken and set o'er again. But th' lass ne'er
gave out once. Late and early, fair weather or foul, a was at th' forge;
and a came to be known for as good a smith as there was in all
Warwickshire. But, for that none had e'er heard tell o' a woman at such
work, or for some other reason, they did come to call her, moreover,
"The Farrier Lass o' Piping Pebworth."

One day, as we sat i' th' door o' th' shop, a-resting, and talking
together--after a way we had with us even when she was a little
lass--there rides up a young gallant, all dressed out in velvet and
galloon, and a feather in 's hat, and long curls hanging about his
shoulders. Oh ay, a was bonny enough to look upon. So a draws rein at
th' door. And saith he,

"Art thou th' Farrier Lass o' Piping Pebworth?" saith he.

Saith she, arising to her feet, and standing with crossed arms like any
man--saith she,

"Folks call me so," saith she. "But my name is Keren Lemon."

"A sour name for so sweet a lass," saith th' gallant.

"Would thou hadst sweetened that old jest with some new wit!" quoth she.

"Thou art sharp o' tongue," saith he.

"I shoe horses with my arms, not with my tongue," saith she.

"As I live, a witty jade!" quoth he. "Thou dost much amuse me, maiden."

"My wit was not fashioned any more for thy amusement than for the
shoeing o' thy horse," quoth she. "So, if thou dost not purpose to have
him shod, ride on!" saith she.

Then saith he, to himself, as 'twere, "Verily," saith he, "they should
call thee the _harrier_ lass, for thou hast run down and found my
manners when that old hounds have failed." And to her he saith, "I do
purpose to have my horse shod, maiden; and I cry thee pardon for ha