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.
[Illustration: Landseer SHOEING]
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. 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._