Tressilian mustered his learning to reply, “Linguæ Latinæ haud penitus ignarus, venia tua, domine eruditissime, vernaculam libentius loquor.”
The Latin reply had upon the schoolmaster the effect which the mason’s sign is said to produce on the brethren of the trowel. He was at once interested in the learned traveller, listened with gravity to his story of a tired horse and a lost shoe, and then replied with solemnity, “It may appear a simple thing, most worshipful, to reply to you that there dwells, within a brief mile of these tuguria, the best faber ferrarius, the most accomplished blacksmith, that ever nailed iron upon horse. Now, were I to say so, I warrant me you would think yourself compos voti, or, as the vulgar have it, a made man.”
“I should at least,” said Tressilian, “have a direct answer to a plain question, which seems difficult to be obtained in this country.”
“It is a mere sending of a sinful soul to the evil un,” said the old woman, “the sending a living creature to Wayland Smith.”
“Peace, Gammer Sludge!” said the pedagogue; “pauca verba, Gammer Sludge; look to the furmity, Gammer Sludge; curetur jentaculum, Gammer Sludge; this gentleman is none of thy gossips.” Then turning to Tressilian, he resumed his tone, “And so, most worshipful, you would really think yourself felix bis terque, should I point out to you the dwelling of this same smith?”
“Sir,” replied Tressilian, “I should in that case have all that I want at present—a horse fit to carry
