True The young man drew up his horse at this point and looked about him. [83]“The reports placed the ‘Wheat Sheaf’ at no great distance from here,” said he to himself. “And as it’s wearing toward evening I may as well take my dinner there.” [83] As he sat his horse he heard the ring of a hammer striking hearty blows upon an anvil; then a sledge joined in and a clangor of sound swept upward. George shook the rein, and about fifty yards further on, in a sheltered spot a little back from the road, he came upon a small smithy. George dismounted and stood watching the smith and his assistant for a space; then the iron was apparently beaten into its true shape, for it was laid aside and the two stood mopping their faces with damp towels. “Good-day,” greeted George. “The top of it to yourself, sure,” returned the smith, who was a freckled Irishman with fiery red hair and a droll look. “That seemed like a hard task,” commented the young man, coming nearer. “Why, then,” returned the smith, “it’s little else we’re getting nowadays. Since they’ve took to fighting all about the place, sorra the bit of work do we get but bayonets,[84] swords as long as your arm and bits like this,” with a jerk of his thumb toward the still glowing forging, “for the big guns.” [84] The apprentice, a huge limbed youth with a small, sloping head, was observing young Prentiss’s shoulder belt with its heavy hanger, and the pistol butt that protruded from a holster. “Are you in General Putnam’s army?” asked he, all agape. “No,” replied George, truthfully. “I am not.” “Small blame to him for asking you that,” said the Irish smith, “for it’s few that go by now but Putnam’s sogers—or the other sort.” “The other sort!” echoed George, catching at this instantly. “What do you mean?” “Are you for the king or for Congress?” asked the smith. “For Congress,” returned George, promptly.
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