trouble.

His only reply was a mysterious shake of the head as he led the way
down the village street, his rags flapping grotesquely in the dawn
wind.

There was nothing for Patsy to do except to follow as fast as she
could after his long, swinging strides. Lebanon still slept,
close-wrapped in its peaceful respectability; even the dogs failed to
give them a speeding bark. They stole away as silently as shadows,
and as shadows went forth upon the open road to meet the coming day.

A mile beyond the township stone the tinker stopped to let Patsy
catch up with him; it was a very breathless, disgruntled Patsy.

"Now, by Saint Brendan, what ails ye, lad, to be waking a body up at
this time of day? Do ye think it's good morals or good manners to be
trailing us off on a bare stomach like this--as if a county full of
constables was at our heels? What's the meaning of it? And what will
the good folk who cared for us the night think to find us gone with
never a word of thanks or explanation?"

The tinker scratched his chin meditatively; it was marked by a day's
more growth than on the previous morning, which did not enhance his
comeliness or lessen his state of vagabondage. There was something
about his appearance that made him out less a fool and more an
uncouth rascal; one might easily have trusted him as well as pitied
him yesterday--but to-day--Patsy's gaze was critical and not
over-flattering.

He saw her look and met it, eye for eye, only he still fumbled his
chin ineffectually. "Have you forgot?" he asked, a bit sheepishly.
"There were the lady's-slippers; you said as how you cared about
findin' 'em; and they're not near so pretty an' bright if they're
left standin' too long after the dew dries."

Patsy pulled a wry little smile. "Is that so? And ye've been after
making me trade a feather-bed and a good breakfast for--for the best
color of lady's-slippers. Well, if I was Dan instead of myself,
standing here, I'd be likely to tell ye to go to the devil--aye, an'
help ye there with my two fists." Her cheeks were flushed and all the
comradeship faded quickly from her eyes.

The tinker said never a word, only his lips parted in a coaxing smile
which seemed to say, "Please go on believing in me," and his eyes
still held hers unwaveringly.

And the tinker's smile won. Bit by bit Patsy's rigid attitude of
condemnation relaxed; the comradeship crept back in her eyes, the
smile to her lips. "Heigho! 'Tis a bad bargain