re respectfully, "as for what he was
like I cannot tell, nor no man else, for why I never saw un."

"And how didst thou get thine errand done," said Gaffer Grimesby, "if
thou seedst him not?"

"Why, I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o' nag," said Jack
Hostler; "and I went wi' the ugliest slip of a boy for my guide as ever
man cut out o' lime-tree root to please a child withal."

"And what was it?--and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?" was uttered
and echoed by all who stood around.

"Why, how can I tell you what it was?" said the hostler; "simply it
smelled and tasted--for I did make bold to put a pea's substance into
my mouth--like hartshorn and savin mixed with vinegar; but then no
hartshorn and savin ever wrought so speedy a cure. And I am dreading
that if Wayland Smith be gone, the bots will have more power over horse
and cattle."

The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior in its influence to
any other pride whatever, here so far operated on Wayland Smith, that,
notwithstanding the obvious danger of his being recognized, he could not
help winking to Tressilian, and smiling mysteriously, as if triumphing
in the undoubted evidence of his veterinary skill. In the meanwhile, the
discourse continued.

"E'en let it be so," said a grave man in black, the companion of Gaffer
Grimesby; "e'en let us perish under the evil God sends us, rather than
the devil be our doctor."

"Very true," said Dame Crane; "and I marvel at Jack Hostler that he
would peril his own soul to cure the bowels of a nag."

"Very true, mistress," said Jack Hostler, "but the nag was my master's;
and had it been yours, I think ye would ha' held me cheap enow an I had
feared the devil when the poor beast was in such a taking. For the rest,
let the clergy look to it. Every man to his craft, says the proverb--the
parson to the prayer-book, and the groom to his curry-comb.

"I vow," said Dame Crane, "I think Jack Hostler speaks like a good
Christian and a faithful servant, who will spare neither body nor soul
in his master's service. However, the devil has lifted him in time, for
a Constable of the Hundred came hither this morning to get old Gaffer
Pinniewinks, the trier of witches, to go with him to the Vale of
Whitehorse to comprehend Wayland Smith, and put him to his probation. I
helped Pinniewinks to sharpen his pincers and his poking-awl, and I saw
the warrant from Justice Blindas."

"Pooh--pooh--the devil would laugh both at