"
"Then, according to mine, you're precisely three quarters of a minute
fast, Jessamy, my lad."
"Why, as to that, friend," answered Jessamy, "it's in my mind that
you're just about that much slow, comrade."
And so, reaching a knife, I began to help Diana in the peeling of
potatoes and, though finding it a somewhat trying business, yet
contrived ever and anon to steal surreptitious glances at her downbent
face and to surprise more than once that new soft and shy-sweet wonder
in her glance.
"You'll cut yourself if you aren't more careful!" she admonished, and
the kindness it seemed had somehow got into her voice.
"What matter?" said I. "What does anything matter except--"
"What?" she questioned softly.
"You, Diana--you and only you--"
"Don't be silly!" said she, but in the same gentle voice and though
she stooped her head a little lower, I thought the colour was deepened
in her cheek.
"Should you think me silly, Diana, if I told you--"
"Yes, I should!" she answered so suddenly that I started and the wet
potato shot from my grasp.
"I fancy it'll rain to-night, Jessamy," said the Tinker, glancing up
at the heavens.
"Brother, I'm pretty sure of it," answered Jessamy, "I noticed the
clouds bankin' up to wind'ard. We'd best rig up t' other tent--"
"Why, Peregrine," exclaimed the Tinker, as I stooped to recover the
elusive vegetable, "who's been sp'iling of your noo coat, your
collar's all ripped, lad?"
"A black scoundrel who insulted Diana," I exclaimed, clenching my
fists.
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