"Ha!" said he. "You're quite sure as you
don't love each other, then?"
"Quite!" said Diana.
"Absolutely!" said I.
"Oh!" said the Tinker, wiping his knife upon his breeches. "Well,
considering you was both so hungry, you ain't neither of you eaten
dooly of this stoo as was fit for any king. And talkin' o' wed-lock,
if you ain't in love with each other--yet, I should wait until you
are, which," said he, glancing up at the leaves above his head, "which
judging by the look o' things, I should say might 'appen at any moment
'twixt now and Christmas. Meantime, what are ye going' to do?"
At this, being somewhat at a loss, I looked at Diana and she at the
fire again.
"Now if," pursued the Tinker, "if you'm minded, both on ye, for to
j'ine comp'ny and travel the country awhile along o' Diogenes an'
me--say the word, an' I'll be the j'y-fullest tinker 'twixt here an'
John o' Groat's!" As he ended, Diana reached out suddenly and,
catching his hand, fondled those work-roughened fingers against her
soft cheek.
"O Jerry," she sighed, "you were always s' good and wise!"
"Then, dear lass, you'll come?"
"Of course I will. I'll weave baskets--"
"And I'll mend kettles, if you'll teach me, friend Jerry," said I,
grasping his other hand.
"Why, children!" said he, looking upon us gentle-eyed, "Lord love ye
now--you make me as proud as if I was a dook 'stead of only a
travelling tinker!"
"It were best of all to be a poet, I think!" said I.
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