Part 12 (1/2)

”So you think--”

”Aye, I think 'twas a joke with ye--from first to last. Maybe ye made a wager with some one--or ye were dared to take to the road in rags--or ye did it for copy; ye're not the first man who has done the like for the sake of a new idea for a story. 'Twas a pity, though, ye couldn't have got what ye wanted without making a girl pay with her self-respect.”

The tinker winced, reaching out a deprecatory hand. ”You are wrong; no one has paid such a price. There are some natures so clear and fine that chance and extremity can put them anywhere--in any company--without taking one whit from their fineness or leaving one atom of smirch. Do you think I would have brought you here and risked your trust and censors.h.i.+p of my honor if you had not been--what you are? A decent man has as much self-respect as a decent woman, and the same wish to keep it.”

But Patsy's comprehension was strangely deaf.

”'Tis easy enough tr.i.m.m.i.n.g up poor actions with grand words. There'd have been no need of risking anything if ye had set me on the right road this morning; I would have been in Arden now, where I belong.

But that wasn't your way. 'Twas a grand scheme ye had--whatever it might be; and ye fetch me away afore the town is up and I can ask the road of any one; and ye coax me across pastures and woods, a far cry from pa.s.sing folk and reliable information; and ye hold me, loitering the day through, till ye have me forgetting entirely why I came, along with the promise laid on me, and the other poor lad--Heaven help him!”

”Oho!” The tinker whistled unconsciously.

”Oho!” mimicked Patsy; ”and is there anything so wonderfully strange in a la.s.s looking after a lad? Sure, I'm hating myself for not minding his need better; and, Holy Saint Michael, how I'm hating ye!”

She ran out of the room and up the stairway.

The tinker was after her in a twinkling. He reached the foot of the stairs before she was at the top. ”Please--please wait a minute,” he pleaded. ”If there's another--lad, a lad you--love, that I have kept you from--then I hate myself as much as you do. All I can say is that I didn't think--didn't guess; and I'm no end sorry.”

Patsy leaned over the banisters and looked down at him through eyes unmistakably wet. ”What does it matter to ye if he's the lad I love or not? And can't a body do a kindness for a lad without loving him?”

”Thank Heaven! she can. You have taught me that miracle--and I don't believe the other lad will grudge me these few hours, even if you do.

Who knows? My need may have been as great as his.”

Patsy frowned. ”All ye needed was something soft to dull your wits on; what he's needing is a father--and mother--and sweetheart--and some good 1915 bonds of human trust.”

The tinker folded his arms over the newel-post and smiled. ”And do you expect to be able to supply them all?”

”G.o.d forbid!” Patsy laughed in spite of herself.

And the tinker, scoring a point, took courage and went on: ”Don't you suppose I realize that you have given me the finest gift a stranger can have--the gift of honest, unconditional friends.h.i.+p, asking no questions, demanding no returns? It is a rare gift for any man--and I want to keep it as rare and beautiful as when it was given. So please don't mar it for me--now. Please--!” His hands went out in earnest appeal.

The anger was leaving Patsy's face; already the look of comrades.h.i.+p was coming back in her eyes; her lips were beginning to curve in the old, whimsical 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 fas.h.i.+on, 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?”