imsical smile. And the tinker, seeing, doubled his courage.
"Now, won't you please forgive me and come down and get some supper?"

She hesitated and, seeing that her decision was hanging in the
balance, he recklessly tried his hand at tipping the scales in his
favor. "I'm no end of a good forager, and I've rooted out lots of
things in tins and jars. You must be awfully hungry; remember, it's
hours since our magical breakfast with the lady's-slippers."

Patsy's fist banged the railing with a startling thud. "I'll never
break fast with ye again--never--never--never! Ye've blighted the
greenest memory I ever had!" And with that she was gone, slamming the
door after her by way of dramatic emphasis.

* * * * *

It was a forlorn and dejected tinker that returned alone to the empty
hearthside. The bright cheer of the fire had gone; the room had
become a place of shadows and haunting memories. For a long time he
stood, brutally kicking one of the fire-dogs and snapping his fingers
at his feelings; and then, being a man and requiring food, he went
out into the pantry where he had been busily preparing to set forth
the hospitality of the house when Patsy had wakened.

But before he ate he found a tray and covered it with the best the
pantry afforded. He mounted the stairs with it in rather a lagging
fashion, being wholly at sea concerning the temperature of his
reception. His conscience finally compromised with his courage, and
he put the tray down outside Patsy's door.

It was not until he was half-way down the stairs again that he called
out, bravely, "Oh--I say--Miss--O'Connell; you'd better change your
mind and eat something."

He waited a good many minutes for an answer, but it came at last; the
voice sounded broken and wistful as a crying child's. "Thank--you!"
and then, "Could ye be after telling me how far it is from here to
Arden?"

"Let me see--about--seven miles;" and the tinker laughed; he could
not help it.

The next instant Patsy's door opened with a jerk and the tray was
precipitated down the stairs upon him. It was the conclusive evidence
of the O'Connell temper.

But the tinker never knew that Patsy wept herself remorsefully to
sleep; and Patsy never knew that the last thing the tinker did that
night was to cut a bedraggled brown coat and skirt and hat into
strips and burn them, bit by bit. It was not altogether a pleasant
ceremony--the smell of burning wool is not ince