Jarvis," said I, humbly.
"Then, sir--come and eat," he answered, "and don't go 'mistering' me;
I'm Tinker Jarvis and Jerry to my friends."
"Then please don't call me 'sir'--my name is Peregrine."
"Then it's a bargain, friend Peregrine!" said he, and led us into the
deeps of the wood where was a small clearing well shut in by bush and
thicket; and here burned a fire that crackled cheerily beneath a
bubbling pot, a fire whose dancing light showed me the three-legged
stool, the dingy tent and Diogenes the pony tethered near by, who,
having lifted shaggy head to snuff towards us enquiringly, fell to
cropping the grass again. And beholding all this, the Tinker's shrewd
and kindly face and Diana smiling at me across the fire, I felt a
sense of rest and companionship vastly comforting.
CHAPTER XXIII
DISCUSSES THE VIRTUES OP THE ONION
"There's nothing like an onion!" said the Tinker, lifting pot-lid to
lunge at the bubbling contents with an inquisitorial fork. "An onion
is the king o' vegetables! Eat it raw and it's good; b'ile it and it's
better; fry it and it can't be ekalled; stoo it wi' a rabbit and
you've got a stoo as savoury an' full o' flavour--smells all right,
don't it, Ann?" he enquired suddenly and a little anxiously, for Diana
had possessed herself of the fork and was investigating the pot's
bubbling contents with that deft and capable assurance that is wholly
feminine. "Smells savoury, don't it, Ann?" he questioned again, noting
her puckered brow.
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