"Ah boy! 'tis only God's oxygen. Think o' the poor fools withering on cracker barrels in Hillsborough an' wearing away 'the lag end o' their lewdness.' I have no patience with the like o' them, I'd rather be a butcher's clerk an' carry with me the redolence o' ham." In Hillsborough, where all spoke of him as an odd man of great learning, there were none, saving Trove and two or three others, that knew the tinker well, for he took no part in the roaring gossip of shop and store. "Hath it ever occurred to thee," said Darrel, as they walked along, "that a fool is blind to his folly, a wise man to his wisdom?" When they were through the edge of the wilderness and came out on Cedar Hill, and saw, below them, the great, round shadow of Robin's Inn, they began to hasten their steps. They could see Polly reading a book under the big tree. "What ho! the little queen," said Darrel, as they came near, "Now, put upon her brow 'an odorous chaplet o' sweet summer buds.'" She came to meet them in a pretty pink dress and slippers and white stockings. "Fair lady, I bring thee flowers," said Darrel, handing her a bouquet. "They are from the great garden o' the fields." "And I bring a crown," said Trove, as he kissed her and put a wreath of clover and wild roses on her brow. "I thought something dreadful had happened," said Polly, with tears in her eyes. "For three days I've been dressed up waiting." "An' a grand dress it is," said Barrel, surveying her pretty figure. "I've nearly worn it out waiting," said she, looking down, her voice trembling. "Tut, tut, girl--'tis a lovely dress," the tinker insisted. "It is one my mother wore when she was a girl," said Polly, proudly. "It was made over." "O--oh! God love thee, child!" said the tinker, in a tone of great admiration. "'Tis beautiful." "And, you came through the woods?" said Polly. "Through wood and field," was Trove's answer. "I wonder you knew the way." "The little god o' love--he shot his arrows, an' we followed them as the hunter follows the bee," said Darrel. "It was nice of you to bring the flowers," said Polly. "They are beautiful." "But not like those in thy cheeks, dear child. Where is the good mother?" said Darrel. "She and the boys are gone a-berrying, and I have been making jelly. We're going to have a party to-night for your birthday." "'An' rise up before the hoary head an' honour the face o' the old man,'" said Darrel, thoughtfully. "But, child, honour is not for them that tinker clocks." "'Honour and fame from no condition rise,'" said Polly, who sat in a chair, knitting. "True, dear girl! Thy lips are sweeter than the poet's thought." "You'll turn my head;" the girl was laughing as she spoke. "An it turn to me, I shall be happy," said the tinker, smiling, and then he began to feel the buttons on his waistcoat. "Loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not--" "She loves you," said Polly, with a smile.