"Very well! and three times again very well!" said the old man, warmly. "An' the good God is he not greater an' more to be loved than all kings? Fear, boy, that is the whip o' destiny driving the dumb herd. To all that fear I say 'tis well, have fear, but pray that love may conquer it. To all that love I say, fear only lest ye lose the great treasure. Love is the best thing, an' with too much fear it sickens. Always keep it with thee--a little is a goodly property an' its revenoo is happiness. Therefore, be happy, boy--try ever to be happy." There was a moment of silence broken by the sound of a church bell. "To thy prayers," said the clock tinker, rising, "an' I'll to mine. Dine with me at five, good youth, an' all me retinoo--maids, warders, grooms, attendants--shall be at thy service." "I'll be glad to come," said the boy, smiling at his odd host. "An' see thou hast hunger." "Good morning, Mr. ---- ?" the boy hesitated. "Darrel--Roderick Darrel--" said the old man, "that's me name, sor, an' ye'll find me here at the Sign o' the Dial." A wind came shrieking over the hills, and long before evening the little town lay dusky in a scud of snow mist. The old stairs were quivering in the storm as Trove climbed them. "Welcome, good youth," said the clock tinker, shaking the boy's hand as he came in. "Ho there! me servitors. Let the feast be spread," he called in a loud voice, stepping quickly to the stove that held an upper deck of wood, whereon were dishes. "Right Hand bring the meat an' Left Hand the potatoes an' Quick Foot give us thy help here." He suited his action to the words, placing a platter of ham and eggs in the centre of a small table and surrounding it with hot roast potatoes, a pot of tea, new biscuit, and a plate of honey. "Ho! Wit an' Happiness, attend upon us here," said he, making ready to sit down. Then, as if he had forgotten something, he hurried to the door and opened it. "Care, thou skeleton, go hence, and thou, Poverty, go also, and see thou return not before cock-crow," said he, imperatively. "You have many servants," said Trove. "An' how may one have a castle without servants? Forsooth, boy, horses an' hounds, an' lords an' ladies have to be attended to. But the retinoo is that run down ye'd think me home a hospital. Wit is a creeping dotard, and Happiness he is in poor health an' can barely drag himself to me table, an' Hope is a tippler, an' Right Hand is getting the palsy. Alack! me best servant left me a long time ago." "And who was he?" "Youth! lovely, beautiful Youth! but let us be happy. I would not have him back--foolish, inconstant Youth! dreaming dreams an' seeing visions. God love ye, boy! what is thy dream?"