"Ha! too well eddicated, I suppose. Well, 'tis a queer kettle o' fish, but so's life, yet, though heaviness endure for a night, j'y cometh in the morning, and mind, I'm your friend if you're so minded. And now, what I says is--let's to sleep, for I must be early abroad." Here he reached into the little tent and presently brought thence two blankets, one of which he proffered me, but the night being very hot and oppressive, I declined it and presently we were lying side by side, staring up at the stars. But suddenly upon the stillness, from somewhere amid the surrounding boskages that shut us in, came the sound of one sighing gustily, and I sat up, peering. "All right, friend," murmured the Tinker drowsily; "'tis only my Diogenes!" "And who is Diogenes?" "My pony, for sure!" "But why do you call him Diogenes?" "Because Diogenes lived in a tub an'--he don't! Good night, young friend! Never thought o' writing a nov-el, I s'pose?" he enquired suddenly. "Never! Why do you ask?" "I met a young cove once, much like you only bigger, and this young cove threatened to write a nov-el an' put me into it. That was years ago, an' I've sold and read a good many nov-els since then, but never came across myself in ever a one on 'em." "Good night!" said I and very presently heard him snore. But as for me I lay wakeful, busied with my thoughts and staring up at the radiant heaven. "No!" said I to myself at last, speaking my thought aloud, "No, I shall never be a poet!" CHAPTER IV IN WHICH I MEET A DOWN-AT-HEELS GENTLEMAN I awoke uncomfortably warm, to find the high-risen sun pouring his dazzling beams full upon me while, hard by, the Tinker's fire yet smouldered; up I started to rub my eyes and stare about me upon the unfamiliar scene. Birds piped and chirped merrily amid the leaves above and around, a rabbit sat to watch me inquisitively, but otherwise I was alone, for the Tinker had vanished and his tent with him. Now as I sat, feeling strangely lonely and disconsolate, I espied a bulbous parcel lying in reach and, opening this, found it to contain a small loaf, three slices of bacon and a piece of cheese, together with a folded paper whereon I deciphered these words inscribed in painfully neat characters. YOUNG SIR: What is one thing at night is another in the morning, so I have gone my way and taken my course appointed. If you should wish to meet me again, which would be strange, I think, you shall hear of me at the White Hart nigh to Sevenoaks, or the Chequers at Tonbridge or from mostly any of the padding kind, since the high road is my home and has been long. I am glad you liked my verses, I have more I could have read you and I think better of yours than you think I thought, though you have taken Lord Byron for your model I think and he is only a poet when he forgets to be a fine gentleman. May you prosper, young sir, and find your manhood which I reckon is none so far to seek. And this is the true desire of me. Jeremiah Jarvis.