f a human being--yet a flower can wear them for a thousand
years or more and ye never go tired of them. I'm not knowing why,
but--somehow--I'd like to be looking gladsome--to-day."

She stretched her arms wide for a minute, in a gesture of intense
longing; then the glory of the woods claimed her again and she gave
herself over completely to the wonder and enjoyment of them. Her eyes
roamed about her unceasingly for every bit of prettiness, her ears
caught the symphony of bird and brook and soughing wind. So still did
she sit that the tinker, returning, thought for a moment that she had
gone, and stood, knee-deep in the brakes, laden to the chin and
covered with the misery of poignant disappointment. For him all the
music of the place had turned to laughing discord--until he spied
her.

"I thought"--his tongue stumbled--"I was thinkin' you had
gone--sudden-like--same as you came--down the road yesterday." He
paused a moment. "You wouldn't go off by yourself and leave a lad
without you said somethin' about it first, would you?"

"I'll not leave ye till we get to Arden."

"An'--an' what then?"

"The road must end for me there, lad. What I came to do will be done,
and there'll be no excuse for lingering. But I'll not forget to wish
ye 'God-speed' along your way before I go."

A sly look came into the tinker's eyes. Patsy never saw it, for he
was bending close over the huge basket he had brought; she only
caught a tinge of exultation in his voice as he said, "Then that's
a'right, if you'll promise your comp'ny till we fetch up in Arden."

With that he went busily about preparations for breakfast, Patsy
watching him, plainly astonished. He gathered bark and brush and
kindled a fire on a large flat rock which he had moved against a
near-by boulder. About it he fastened a tripod of green saplings,
from which he hung a coffee-pot, filled from the brook.

"I'm praying there's more nor water in it," murmured Patsy. And a
moment later, as the tinker shook out a small white table-cloth from
the basket and spread it at her feet, she clasped her hands and
repeated with perfect faith, "'Little goat bleat, table get set'; I
smell the coffee."

Out of the basket came little green dishes, a pat of butter, a jug of
cream, a bowl of berries, a plate of biscuits. "Riz," was the
tinker's comment as he put down the last named; and then followed
what appeared to Patsy to be round, brown, sugared buns with holes in
them. These he pas