At the blacksmith’s shop the bay mare Betty is being fitted to new shoes. Already the fore feet are nicely shod and the blacksmith now has the near hind foot in hand. The other occupants of the place are a small donkey and the bloodhound Laura.

Betty is a sensible horse and enjoys the shoeing process. When the time comes around for her regular visit to the forge, she walks off voluntarily and unattended to the familiar spot. No halter is necessary to keep her standing; in fact, she would not tolerate such an indignity. She takes her place by the window as if perfectly at home.

Blacksmith and horse are old friends who understand each other well. The man has won the animal’s confidence by the care he has taken to fit the shoes comfortably. Though a plain, rough fellow, he is of a kindly nature and knows his business thoroughly. The shop is a quaint little place such as one finds in English villages. The thick masonry of the walls shows how old the building is; the floor is paved with large blocks of stone. Between the anvil and the forge there is only space enough for the horse to stand.

At the stage of the process seen in the picture the preparations are all over. The old shoes were first removed and the feet pared and filed. New shoes were chosen as near the right size as possible, and one by one shaped for each foot.[Pg 176]
[Pg 177] And now, holding the shoe in his long tongs, the blacksmith thrusts it into the fire, while he fans the flames with the bellows. Thence it is transferred, a glowing red crescent, to the anvil. Now the workman swings his hammer upon it with ringing strokes, the sparks fly out in a shower, and the soft metal is shaped at will. The shoe may be made a little broader or a little longer, as the case may be; bent a trifle here or there, to accommodate the foot to be fitted. The steel toe calk is welded in, the ends are bent to form the heels, the holes for nails are punctured, the shoe taking an occasional plunge into the flames during these processes.

Now there must be a preliminary trying-on. The shoe, still hot, is held to the foot for which it is intended, and the air is filled with the fumes of burning hoof. Yet the horse does not flinch, for the thick hoof is a perfect protection for the sensitive parts of the foot. If the careful blacksmith is not quite satisfied with the fit, there must be more hammering on the anvil, and another trying-on. When the shoe is satisfactory, it is thrust hissing into a barrel of cold water, and, when cooled and hardened, is ready to be nailed on.

It is at this point in the story that we come upon Betty. The blacksmith, after the approved method of his trade, holds the foot firmly between his knees, and bends to his task. The nails, long and flat, are in the tool-box on the floor beside him. A few firm blows of the hammer drive each one into place, first on one side, then on the other; the projecting points are twisted off every time, and finally all the rough ends are filed smoothly on the outside of the hoof. Betty is at last fully shod and will step complacently home.

The painter, Sir Edwin Landseer, has arranged the four figures of the picture in such a way that we may see each one in a characteristic pose. The bay mare is, of course, the chief attraction,—a fine high-bred creature, with straight legs, arching neck, and gentle face, marked on the forehead with a pure white star. Landseer exerted his utmost skill in reproducing the texture of the glossy hide. Its beautiful sheen is more striking by contrast with the shaggy hair of the donkey. It was a clever thought to place this plebeian little beast beside the aristocratic, high-spirited horse.

The donkey bends his head in a deprecating way below Betty’s handsome neck, and the horse permits the companionship of an inferior with gentle tolerance. There is something very appealing about the donkey, a patient little beast of burden, meekly bearing his saddle. The bloodhound shows no little curiosity as to the shoeing process, as if it were something new to her. She sits on her haunches, thrusting her head forward, the long ears drooping, the sensitive nose sniffing the strange odors.

Among these dumb companions the blacksmith feels himself surrounded by friends. He is a lover of pets, as we see by the bird-cage hanging in the window. His sturdy frame looks equal to the demands of his trade, which are, in fact, very onerous. It is grimy work, and only the roughest clothes can be worn. A big leather apron with a cut down the middle is, as it were, his badge of office. He does his work with conscientious earnestness, concentrating all his thought and energy upon each blow of the hammer. The task completed, he will take an honest pride in the good piece of work he has done for Betty.

—Estelle M. Hurll.

From “Landseer,” in “The Riverside Art Series,” by permission of Houghton Mifflin and Company.