"My poor, distraught Peregrine!" she sighed. "My poor, poor boy. So thus I leave you because I must. But some day, when your stubborn will is broken, when your proud head is bowed with grief and shame, come back, dear prodigal, come back, and you shall find these arms outstretched in eager welcome, this solitary heart still open to shelter and protect. Farewell, my Peregrine--I go to weep and pray for you in the night silences. George--Jervas, lead me hence!" Now as I stood, my eyes smarting with tears evoked by her last words, my uncles tendered their arms with grave and ready courtesy, but in that moment as I watched in a silent grief conjured up by my aunt's last words, the keen glance of uncle Jervas met mine for one brief moment and, in that space, his right eyelid flickered unmistakably; then uncle George coughed explosively and at the same instant tossed something to the foot of a tree; coming thither, I took up a well-filled leathern wallet and a heavy purse; with these, my uncles' parting benefactions in my hands, what wonder that I saw their retreating forms through a mist of tears. CHAPTER XXVIII EXEMPLIFYING THAT CLOTHES DO MAKE THE MAN "The Rubicon," said the Tinker, "the Rubicon is a river as no Roman ever crossed without doo thought. 'The die,' as Julius Caesar remarked when he crossed it, 'the die is cast!' Friend Peregrine, you ha' sent away your lady aunt a-grieving, poor ma'm, and your fine gentlemen uncles likewise, and consequently what I asks is--what now?" "Clothes!" said I. "This afternoon let us drive into Tonbridge, find a tailor, get rid of these atrocities and afterwards sup at some cosy inn." "Your gentlefolk brought you money then?" "They did," said I, and laying by my platter, I drew from my breeches pockets the wallet of my uncle Jervas and uncle George's purse. "Ha!" exclaimed the Tinker, rubbing his long chin with the haft of his knife. "How much?" "We will investigate," said I, and opening the wallet, I discovered the sum of thirty pounds in gold and notes and a carefully folded missive with these words: 'If you wish to tinker, Peregrine, tinker like a gentleman. If you must make love, do it like a Vereker, that is to say, a man of honour.' "My soul!" exclaimed the Tinker, round of eye. In uncle George's purse were twenty guineas with a crumpled paper bearing this scrawl, 'More when you want it, Perry lad.' "Lord love me!" exclaimed the Tinker, staring at the money I had placed on the grass between us. "It's a fine thing to have uncles--rich 'uns. What d' you think, Ann?" "That you'd better eat your dinner while it's hot." "But--fifty pound, Ann! Never saw so much money all at once in my life--an' all gold an' bank notes, nothing s' common as silver or copper--Lord! Fifty pound!" "Divided by four is exactly twelve pounds ten shillings," said I, and counting out this sum, I thrust it into the Tinker's hand. "Eh--what--why, why, what's this?" he demanded. "Your share," I answered.