d. "Brother," said Mr. Petulengro, "I was just now looking in
your face, which exhibited the very look of a person conscious of the
possession of property; there was nothing hungry or sneaking in it. Pay
the reckoning, brother."

And when we were once more upon the road Mr. Petulengro began to talk of
the place which he conceived would serve me as a retreat under present
circumstances. "I tell you frankly, brother, that it is a queer kind of
place, and I am not very fond of pitching my tent in it, it is so
surprisingly dreary. It is a deep dingle in the midst of a large field,
on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit for some years past. I
dare say you will be quiet enough, for the nearest town is five miles
distant, and there are only a few huts and hedge public-houses in the
neighbourhood. Brother, I am fond of solitude myself, but not that kind
of solitude; I like a quiet heath, where I can pitch my house, but I
always like to have a gay stirring place not far off, where the women can
pen dukkerin, and I myself can sell or buy a horse, if needful--such a
place as the Chong Gav. I never feel so merry as when there, brother, or
on the heath above it, where I taught you Rommany."

Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few yards from
the milestone, on the left hand, was a cross-road. Thereupon Mr.
Petulengro said, "Brother, my path lies to the left; if you choose to go
with me to my camp, good, if not Chal Devlehi." But I again refused Mr.
Petulengro's invitation, and, shaking him by the hand, proceeded forward
alone, and about ten miles farther on I reached the town of which he had
spoken, and following certain directions which he had given, discovered,
though not without some difficulty, the dingle which he had mentioned.
It was a deep hollow in the midst of a wide field, the shelving sides
were overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows surrounded it on
the top, a steep winding path led down into the depths, practicable,
however, for a light cart, like mine; at the bottom was an open space,
and there I pitched my tent, and there I contrived to put up my forge.
"I will here ply the trade of kaulomescro," said I.

CHAPTER LXXXIII.

Highly Poetical--Volundr--Grecian Mythology--Making a Petul--Tongues of
Flame--Hammering--Spite of Dukkerin--Heaviness.

It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about a
forge. I am not singular in this opinion