a piece of dry and discoloured parchment, drawn tight across the brow of a fleshless skull.
“And tell me,” said Tressilian, “why you use me thus, thou mischievous imp? or what your meaning is by telling me so absurd a legend as you wished but now to put on me? Or rather show me, in good earnest, this smith’s forge, and I will give thee what will buy thee apples through the whole winter.”
“Were you to give me an orchard of apples,” said Dickie Sludge, “I can guide thee no better than I have done. Lay down the silver token on the flat stone—whistle three times—then comes it down on the western side of the thicket of gorse; I will sit by you, and give you free leave to wring my head off, unless you hear the smith at work within two minutes after we are seated.”
“I may be tempted to take thee at thy word,” said Tressilian, “if you make me do aught half so ridiculous for your own mischievous sport—however, I will prove your spell.—Here, then, I tie my horse to this upright stone—I must lay my silver groat here, and whistle three times, sayst thou?”
“Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an unfledged ousel,” said the boy, as Tressilian, having laid down his money, and half ashamed of the folly he practised, made a careless whistle—“You must whistle louder than that, for who knows where the smith is that you call for?—He may be in the King of France’s stables for what I know.”
“Why, you said but now he was no devil,” replied Tressilian.
