"

"And your uncle, has he been long at it?"

Joey hesitated on purpose. "Why, I really don't know exactly how long."

"Why is your uncle not with you?"

"He was obliged to go to town, miss--that is, to a town at some distance
from here on business."

"Why, what business can a tinker have?" inquired Araminta.

"I suppose he wanted some soft solder, miss; he requires a great deal."

"Can you read and write, boy?" inquired Melissa.

"Me, miss! how should I know how to write and read?" replied Joey,
looking up.

"Have you been much about here?"

"Yes, miss, a good deal; uncle seems to like this part; we never were so
long before. The scissors are done now, miss, and they will cut very
well. Uncle was in hopes of getting some work at the mansion-house when
he came back."

"Can your uncle write and read?"

"I believe he can a little, miss."

"What do I owe you for the scissors?"

"Nothing, miss, if you please; I had rather not take anything from you."

"And why not from me?"

"Because I never worked for so pretty a lady before. Wish you good
morning, ladies," said Joey, taking up his wheel and rolling it away.

"Well, Araminta, what do you think now? That's no knife-grinder's boy;
he is as well-bred and polite as any lad I ever saw."

"I suspect that he is a little story-teller, saying that he could not
write and read," Araminta replied. "And so do I; what made him in such
a hurry to go away?"

"I suppose he did not like our questions. I wonder whether the uncle
will come. Well, Melissa, I must not quit your father just now, so I
must leave you with your book," and, so saying, Araminta took her way to
the house.

Miss Mathews was in a reverie for some minutes; Joey's behaviour had
puzzled her almost as much as what she had overheard the day before. At
last she opened the book, and, to her great astonishment, beheld the
letter. She started--looked at it--it was addressed to her. She
demurred at first whether she should open it. It must have been put
there by the tinker's boy--it was evidently no tinker's letter; it must
be a love-letter, and she ought not to read it. There was something,
however, so very charming in the whole romance of the affair, if it
should turn out, as she suspected, that the tinker should prove a
gentleman who had fallen in love with her, and had assumed the disguise.
Melissa wanted an excuse to herself for opening the letter. At last
she said to herself, "Who kno