much facilitated by my having another pin to look at.  In about three-quarters of an hour I had succeeded tolerably well, and had produced a linch-pin which I thought would serve.  During all this time, notwithstanding the noise which I was making, the postillion never showed his face.  His non-appearance at first alarmed me:  I was afraid he might be dead, but, on looking into the tent, I found him still buried in the soundest sleep.  “He must surely be descended from one of the seven sleepers,” said I, as I turned away and resumed my work.  My work finished, I took a little oil, leather, and sand, and polished the pin as well as I could; then, summoning Belle, we both went to the chaise, where, with her assistance, I put on the wheel.  The linch-pin which I had made fitted its place very well, and having replaced the other, I gazed at the chaise for some time with my heart full of that satisfaction which results from the consciousness of having achieved a great action; then, after looking at Belle in the hope of obtaining a compliment from her lips, which did not come, I returned to the dingle, without saying a word, followed by her.  Belle set about making preparations for breakfast; and I, taking the kettle, went and filled it at the spring.  Having hung it over the fire, I went to the tent in which the postillion was still sleeping, and called upon him to arise.  He awoke with a start, and stared around him at first with the utmost surprise, not unmixed, I could observe, with a certain degree of fear.  At last, looking in my face, he appeared to recollect himself.  “I had quite forgot,” said he, as he got up, “where I was, and all that happened yesterday.  However, I remember now the whole affair, thunderstorm, thunder-bolt, frightened horses, and all your kindness.  Come, I must see after my coach and horses; I hope we shall be able to repair the damage.”  “The damage is already quite repaired,” said I, “as you will see, if you come to the field above.”  “You don’t say so,” said the postillion, coming out of the tent; “well, I am mightily beholden to you.  Good morning, young gentlewoman,” said he, addressing Belle, who, having finished her preparations, was seated near the fire.  “Good morning, young man,” said Belle:  “I suppose you would be glad of some breakfast; however, you must wait a little, the kettle does not boil.”  “Come and look at your chaise,” said I; “but tell me how it happened that the noise which I have been making did not awake you; for three-quarters of an hour at least I was hammering close at your ear.”  “I heard you all the time,” said the postillion, “but your hammering made me sleep all the sounder; I am used to hear hammering in my morning sleep.  There’s a forge close by the room where I sleep when I’m at home, at my inn; for we have all kinds of conveniences at my inn—­forge, carpenter’s shop, and wheelwright’s,—­so that when I heard you hammering, I thought, no doubt, that it was the old noise, and that I was comfortable in my bed at