Wayland’s Smithy

Long ago, a traveler was riding along the Ridgeway, a very old road that runs across the chalk hills of England. It was a long way from any town, and the wind blew softly over the grass. Suddenly, his horse began to limp. The traveler jumped down and looked at its hoof. “Oh dear,” he said, “you have lost a shoe, and there is no blacksmith for miles and miles.”

Just then, a shepherd boy came along the road with his sheep. “You don’t need to walk to town, sir,” said the boy. “Go to the old stones under the beech trees, just over there.” “That is Wayland’s Smithy, and Wayland is the best blacksmith in all the land.” “But nobody has ever seen him,” the boy whispered.

The shepherd boy told him exactly what to do. “Tie your horse beside the big stones, and put a silver coin on the flat rock.” “Then walk away and do not look back, not even once.”

The traveler thought it sounded very strange, but he did just what the boy said. He tied his horse by the stones, set a shiny silver coin on the rock, and walked away down the hill. He sat under a hawthorn bush and waited.

After a while, he heard a sound floating over the hill. Tap, tap, tap, went a little hammer, and clink, clink, clink. The traveler wanted very much to peek, but he remembered the boy’s words, and he kept his eyes on the sky.

At last, the tapping stopped, and everything was quiet again. The traveler walked back up to the old stones. There stood his horse, as calm as could be, with a bright new shoe on its hoof. And the silver coin on the flat rock was gone!

“Thank you, Wayland!” called the traveler, though there was nobody there to hear him. He rode away happily along the Ridgeway, and his horse did not limp at all.

The old stones are still there under the beech trees, beside the Ridgeway. Not far away, a great white horse is drawn on the hillside, and some people say it comes down on moonlit nights to have its shoes mended too.