THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN
"Good morning, Wilfred," he said. "Like a good landlord I am watching sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the blacksmith."
Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: "The blacksmith is out. He is over at Greenford."
"I know," answered the other with silent laughter; "that is why I am calling on him."
"Norman," said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the road, "are you ever afraid of thunderbolts?"
"What do you mean?" asked the colonel. "Is your hobby meteorology?"
"I mean," said Wilfred, without looking up, "do you ever think that God might strike you in the street?"
"I beg your pardon," said the colonel; "I see your hobby is folk-lore."
"I know your hobby is blasphemy," retorted the religious man, stung in the one live place of his nature. "But if you do not fear God, you have good reason to fear man."
The elder raised his eyebrows politely. "Fear man?" he said.
"Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for forty miles round," said the clergyman sternly. "I know you are no coward or weakling, but he could throw you over the wall."
This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth and nostril darkened and deepened.
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