"She loves me, hear that, boy," said the tinker. "Ah, were she not bespoke! Well, God be praised, I'm happy," he added, filling his pipe. "And seventy," said Polly. "Ay, three score an' ten--small an' close together, now, as I look off at them, like a flock o' pigeons in the sky." "What do you think?" said Polly, as she dropped her knitting. "The two old maids are coming to-night." "The two old maids!" said Darrel; "'tis a sign an' a wonder." "Oh, a great change has come over them," Polly went on. "It's all the work o' the teacher. You know he really coaxed them into sliding with him last winter." "I heard of it--the gay Philander!" said Darrel, laughing merrily. "Ah! he's a wonder with the maidens!" "I know it," said Polly, with a sigh. Trove was idly brushing the mat of grass with a walking-stick. He loved fun, but he had no conceit for this kind of banter. "It was one of my best accomplishments," said he, blushing. "I taught them that there was really a world outside their house and that men were not all as lions, seeking whom they might devour." Soon the widow and her boys came, their pails full of berries. "We cannot shake hands with you," said Mrs. Vaughn, her fingers red with the berry stain. "Blood o' the old earth!" said Darrel. "How fares the clock?" "It's too slow, Polly says." "Ah, time lags when love is on the way," Darrel answered. "Foolish child! A little while ago she was a baby, an' now she is in love." "Ah, let the girl love," said Darrel, patting the red cheek of Polly, "an' bless God she loves a worthy lad," "You'd better fix the clock." said Polly, smiling. "It is too fast, now." "So is the beat o' thy heart," Darrel answered, a merry look in his eyes, "an' the clock is keeping pace." Trove got up, with a laugh, and went away, the boys following. "I'm worried about him," the widow whispered. "For a long time he hasn't been himself." "It's the trouble--poor lad! 'Twill soon be over," said Darrel, hopefully. There were now tears in the eyes of Polly. "I do not think he loves me any more," said she, her lips trembling. "Speak not so, dear child; indeed he loves thee." "I have done everything to please him," said Polly, in broken words, her face covered with her handkerchief. "I wondered what was the matter with you, Polly," said her mother, tenderly. "Dear, dear child!" said the tinker, rising and patting her head. "The chaplet on thy brow an' thee weeping!--fairest flower of all!" "I have wished that I was dead;" the words came in a little moan between sobs. "Because: Love hath led thee to the great river o' tears? Nay, child, 'tis a winding river an' crosses all the roads." He had taken her handkerchief, and with a tender touch was drying her eyes. "Now I can see thee smiling, an' thy lashes, child--they are like the spray o' the fern tip when the dew is on it."