I found the making of a linch-pin no easy matter; it was, however, less difficult than the fabrication of a pony-shoe; my work, indeed, was 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.