and Carne Castle went higher than a lark could soar, and folk
were fools enough to believe that Boney would dare put his foot down
there, John Prater had done a most wonderful trade, and never a man who
could lay his tongue justly with the pens that came spluttering from
London had any call for a fortnight together to go to bed sober at his
own expense. But this bright season ended quite as suddenly as it had
begun; and when these great "hungers"--as those veterans were entitled
who dealt most freely with the marvellous--had laid their heads together
to produce and confirm another guinea's worth of fiction, the London
press would have none of it. Public interest had rushed into another
channel; and the men who had thriven for a fortnight on their tongues
were driven to employ them on their hands again.

But now, on the sixth of November, a new excitement was in store for
them. The calm obscurity of night flowed in, through the trees that
belonged to Sir Francis now, and along his misty meadows; and the only
sound in the village lane was the murmur of the brook beside it, or the
gentle sigh of the retiring seas. Boys of age enough to make much
noise, or at least to prolong it after nightfall, were away in the
fishing-boats, receiving whacks almost as often as they needed them; for
those times (unlike these) were equal to their fundamental duties.
In the winding lane outside the grounds of the Hall, and shaping its
convenience naturally by that of the more urgent brook, a man--to show
what the times were come to--had lately set up a shoeing forge. He had
done it on the strength of the troopers' horses coming down the hill so
fast, and often with their cogs worn out, yet going as hard as if they
had no knees, or at least none belonging to their riders. And although
he was not a Springhaven man, he had been allowed to marry a Springhaven
woman, one of the Capers up the hill; and John Prater (who was akin to
him by marriage, and perhaps had an eye to the inevitable ailment of a
man whose horse is ailing) backed up his daring scheme so strongly that
the Admiral, anxious for the public good, had allowed this smithy to be
set up here.

John Keatch was the man who established this, of the very same family
(still thriving in West Middlesex) which for the service of the state
supplied an official whose mantle it is now found hard to fill; and the
blacksmith was known as "Jack Ketch" in the village, while his forge was
becoming th