Part 20 (2/2)
”But did she go empty-handed?” asked the tinker.
”Aye, but not empty-hearted, thank G.o.d!”
”And wherever the child went, she carried with her that hatred of gold,” mused the tinker.
”Aye; why not? She had learned how pitifully little it was worth, when all's said and done. 'Twas her father's name she heard last on her mother's lips, and it was their child she prayed for with her dying breath.” Patsy sprang to her feet. ”Do ye see--the moon will be beating me to bed, and 'twas a poor tale, after all. How is your foot?”
”Better--much better.”
”Would ye be able to travel on it to-morrow?”
The tinker shook his head. ”The day after, perhaps.”
”Well, keep on coaxing it. Good night.” And she had picked up her basket and was gone before the tinker could stumble to his feet.
When the tinker woke the next morning the basket stood just inside the stable door, linked through the pilgrim's staff. On investigation it proved to contain his breakfast and an envelope, and the envelope contained a ten-dollar bill and a letter, which read:
DEAR LAD,--I'll be well on the road when you get this; and with a tongue in my head and luck at my heels, please G.o.d, I'll reach Arden this time. You need not be afraid to use the money--or too proud, either. It was honestly earned and the charity of no one; you can take it as a loan or a gift--whichever you choose. Anyhow, it will bring you after me faster--which was your own promise.
Yours in advance,
P. O'CONNELL
Surprise, disappointment, indignation, amus.e.m.e.nt, all battled for the upper hand; but it was a very different emotion from any of these which finally mastered the tinker. He smoothed the bill very tenderly between his hands before he returned it to the envelope; but he did something more than smooth the envelope.
And meanwhile Patsy tramped the road to Arden.
XIII
A MESSAGE AND A MAP
This time there was no mistaking the right road; it ran straight past Quality House to Arden--unbroken but for graveled driveways leading into private estates. Patsy traveled it at a snail's pace. Now that Arden had become a definitely unavoidable goal, she was more loath to reach it than she had been on any of the seven days since the beginning of her quest. However the quest ended--whether she found Billy Burgeman or not, or whether there was any need now of finding him--this much she knew: for her the road ended at Arden. What lay beyond she neither tried nor cared to prophesy. Was it not enough that her days of vagabondage would be over--along with the company of tinkers and such like? There might be an answer awaiting her to the letter sent from Lebanon to George Travis; in that case she could in all probability count on some dependable income for the rest of the summer. Otherwise--there were her wits. The very thought of them wrung a pitiful little groan from Patsy.
”Faith! I've been overworking Dan's legacy long enough, I'm thinking.
Poor wee things! They're needing rest and nourishment for a while,”
and she patted her forehead sympathetically.
Of one thing she was certain--if her wits must still serve her, they should do so within the confines of some respectable community; in other words, she would settle down and work at something that would provide her with bed and board until the fall bookings began. And, the road and the tinker would become as a dream, fading with the summer into a sweet, illusive memory--and a photograph. Patsy felt in the pocket of her Norfolk for the latter with a sudden eagerness. It had been forgotten since she had found the tinker himself; but, now that the road was lengthening between them again, it brought her a surprising amount of comfort.
”There are three things I shall have to be asking him--if he ever fetches up in Arden, himself,” mused Patsy as she loitered along.
”And, what's more, this time I'll be getting an answer to every one of them or I'm no relation of Dan's. First, I'll know the fate of the brown dress; he hadn't a rag of it about him--that's certain. Next, there's that breakfast with the lady's-slippers. How did he come by it? And, last of all, how ever did this picture come on the mantel-shelf of a closed cottage where he knew the way of breaking in and what clothes would be hanging in the chamber closets? 'Tis all too great a mystery--”
”Why, Miss O'Connell--what luck!”
Patsy had been so deep in her musing that a horse and rider had come upon her unnoticed. She turned quickly to see the rider dismounting just back of her; it was Gregory Jessup.
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