"Who are you?" he said to the Smith.
"Read what's written over the door," said the Smith; "but maybe you can't read writing. If so, you must wait till some one comes to help you."
Before our Lord had time to answer him, a man came with his horse, which he begged the Smith to shoe.
"Might I have leave to shoe it?" asked our Lord.
"You may try, if you like," said the Smith; "you can't do it so badly that I shall not be able to make it right again."
So our Lord went out and took one leg off the horse, and laid it in the furnace, and made the shoe red-hot; after that he turned up the ends of the shoe, and filed down the heads of the nails, and clenched the points; and then he put back the leg safe and sound on the horse again. And when he was done with that leg, he took the other foreleg and did the same with it; and when he was done with that he took the hind-legs—first the off, and then the near leg, and laid them in the furnace, making the shoes red-hot, turning up the ends, filing the heads of the nails, and clenching the points; and after all was done, putting the legs on the horse again. All the while the Smith stood by and looked on.
"You're not so bad a smith after all," said he.
"Oh, you think so, do you?" said our Lord.
A little while after came the Smith's mother to the forge, and called him to come home and eat his dinner; she was an old, old woman, with an ugly crook on her back, and wrinkles in her face, and it was as much as she could do to crawl along.
"Mark now what you see," said our Lord.
Then he took the woman and laid her in the furnace, and smithied a lovely young maiden out of her.
