"He would have given us warning," said the smith. "I saw him look back
more than once to see if we were off--'tis a very devil for mischief,
yet not an ill-natured devil either. It were long to tell your honour
how I became first acquainted with him, and how many tricks he played
me. Many a good turn he did me too, especially in bringing me customers;
for his great delight was to see them sit shivering behind the bushes
when they heard the click of my hammer. I think Dame Nature, when she
lodged a double quantity of brains in that misshapen head of his, gave
him the power of enjoying other people's distresses, as she gave them
the pleasure of laughing at his ugliness."
"It may be so," said Tressilian; "those who find themselves severed from
society by peculiarities of form, if they do not hate the common bulk of
mankind, are at least not altogether indisposed to enjoy their mishaps
and calamities."
"But Flibbertigibbet," answered Wayland, "hath that about him which
may redeem his turn for mischievous frolic; for he is as faithful when
attached as he is tricky and malignant to strangers, and, as I said
before, I have cause to say so."
Tressilian pursued the conversation no further, and they continued
their journey towards Devonshire without further adventure, until they
alighted at an inn in the town of Marlborough, since celebrated for
having given title to the greatest general (excepting one) whom Britain
ever produced. Here the travellers received, in the same breath, an
example of the truth of two old proverbs--namely, that ILL NEWS FLY
FAST, and that LISTENERS SELDOM HEAR A GOOD TALE OF THEMSELVES.
The inn-yard was in a sort of combustion when they alighted; insomuch,
that they could scarce get man or boy to take care of their horses, so
full were the whole household of some news which flew from tongue to
tongue, the import of which they were for some time unable to discover.
At length, indeed, they found it respected matters which touched them
nearly.
"What is the matter, say you, master?" answered, at length, the head
hostler, in reply to Tressilian's repeated questions.--"Why, truly,
I scarce know myself. But here was a rider but now, who says that the
devil hath flown away with him they called Wayland Smith, that won'd
about three miles from the Whitehorse of Berkshire, this very blessed
morning, in a flash of fire and a pillar of smoke, and rooted up the
place he dwelt in, near that old cockpit of upright stones, as cleanly
as if it had all been delved up for a cropping."