"We shall make a tidy smith of him yet, eh Anna?" "In time--with patience!" she nodded. "The question is--wages. What ought us to pay him, Ann?" "Nothing!" said I. "Five shillings," said Diana. "Good, we'll make it seven shillings a week to begin wi'," quoth the Tinker, and whipping the glowing bill from the fire, he clapped it on the anvil and at sign from him I whirled up the sledge and brought it down with resounding clank, which he followed with two blows from his lighter hammer, and we fell to it merrily, thus: Clang--chink, chink! Clang--chink, chink! While with every stroke the bill took on form and semblance, growing more and more into what a billhook should be. "A good thick steak, I think you said, Anna?" enquired the Tinker, while I blew the fire for the next heat. "And fried onions, Jerry." "Steak an' onions!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes ecstatically. "Did ye hear that, Perry? And to make good vittles better, there's nowt like smithing! The only thing agin' steak an' onions is that there's never enough onions!" "There will be this time!" said Diana, with another nod. "D'ye hear that, Perry? Lord, I am that ravenous!" "But 'tis scarce twelve o'clock yet, Jerry." "Are you hungry, friend Peregrine?" "I always am, lately." "Poor Perry's hungry likewise, Ann! Come, what of it?" "You must wait till dinner time." "Which is when a man's hungry--or should be. Come, lass, famishin' an' faintin' away we be!" Laughing, Diana rose and crossed the glade to where, screened among leafy thickets, stood cart and tent. "Now as regards paying me wages, Jerry," I began, then stopped and caught my breath suddenly, for Diana was singing. Yet could this indeed be Diana's voice--these soft, sweet, rippling notes mounting in silvery trills so purely sweet, swelling gloriously until the whole wood seemed full of the wonder of it, and I spellbound by this simple, oft-heard air, but which, sung thus and thus glorified, touched me to awed delight. "Aha!" exclaimed the Tinker, as the liquid notes died away. "She can sing when she's happy. Jessamy says there's a fortun' in her voice--" But I was off and across the glade and next moment standing before her. "Why--Diana!" I exclaimed. "O Diana!" "What is it?" she demanded, glancing up from the onion she was peeling. "Why have I never heard you sing before? Why do you sing so seldom?" "Because I only sing when--when I feel like it and to please myself." "Your voice is wonderful!" I exclaimed. "We will have it cultivated; you shall be one of the world's great singers, you shall--" "Don't be silly!" she exclaimed, flushing. "But I tell you your voice is one in ten thousand!" "And this onion is one of six, so take a knife and help me with 'em, 'stead of talking foolish--only go wash first; you're black as a sweep." "Gladly," said I, "if you will sing again." "Nobody can sing and peel onions--they make your eyes run." "Why, then, let me--" "Hush!" she exclaimed suddenly.