By this time we had reached a little wood where flowed a stream, its murmurous waters brimful of sunset glory; and here, as by common consent, we paused a while to look down at this reflected splendour, and when at last she spoke, her voice was gentle, almost pleading. "The duck was--only a duck, Peregrine." "Yes!" said I. "And we were hungry--you know you were?" "Very hungry, Diana." "And the--the three guineas as I--finds in--that beast's pocket did us more good than it could ha' done him?" "True, Diana." "And I only took it because it--it was there to take--and might be useful. But now we--we don't need it any more--I don't, so--there it goes!" And with a sudden gesture she cast into the brook a handful of coins, among which I caught the sheen of gold and silver. "But I--I ain't a thief--I'm not!" she cried passionately. "I never stole anything all my days; I--I only--prig--" Here, acting on sudden impulse, I caught her hand to my lips. "O Diana," said I, "dear child, it is in my mind you will never prig again, either--" "But I shall--I know I shall!" she cried, a little wildly, but yielding her hand to my lips. "Yes, I know--I'm sure I shall, Peregrine, and what should you do then?" "Grieve, child!" "Look!" she whispered suddenly, bending to stare down into the glory of the brook, "O Peregrine--do you see it?" From the stream she pointed upward to the radiant heaven where, immediately above us, sailed a small, curiously-shaped cloud. "Do you see it, Peregrine?" "Only a little, golden cloud, Diana." "It is--the 'Hand of Glory,'" she whispered. "What is it--what does it mean?" "It means, Peregrine, it means that you--that I--oh, you must find out!" And snatching her hand from mine, she fled from me into the wood. CHAPTER XXVII JUNO VERSUS DIANA I was busily engaged blowing the bellows of the Tinker's small, portable forge; besides the making and mending of kettles, pots, pans and the like, it seems he was a skilful smith also, able to turn his hand from shoeing a horse to fashioning such diverse implements as the rustic community had need of, for beside the forge lay a pile of billhooks, axe-heads, sickle-blades and the like, finished or in the making. So I blew the fire, wielded the heavy sledge-hammer or stood absorbed to watch the deft strokes of his hammer draw out, bend and shape the glowing steel, though turning very often to behold Diana sitting near by, her quick hands busied upon the construction of her baskets of rush or peeled willow: thus despite the heat of the fire, the sulphurous flames and the smoke-grime that besmirched me, I laboured joyously and swung the ponderous sledge more vigorously for the knowledge that her bright eyes were often raised to watch me at my work. Thus bellows roared and hammers rang until the sun was high and the Tinker, returning the half-forged billhook to the fire, straightened his back and wiped the sweat from sooty brow with sooty hand.