It was an Italian love song full of sweet rippling notes and trills but, as she sang it, a very ecstasy of yearning tenderness that changed suddenly to joy and rapturous happiness, her glorious voice ringing out full-throated, rich and clear, inexpressibly sweet, swelling louder and louder until suddenly it was gone and we standing mute with awed delight. "She's a-doin' her hair!" whispered Jerry. "She allus used to sing in the morning a-doin' her hair, I mind, but never--ah, never so--wonderfully!" And then she began again, this time that Zingari air we both remembered so well. Singing thus, she stepped out into the sunlight but, seeing us, stopped in the middle of a note and ran forward (even as I had done) with both hands outstretched in greeting. "Jerry!" she cried. "My dear, good Jerry!" But the Tinker drew back, a little abashed by the wondrous change in her. "Why, Ann--why, Anna!" he stammered. "Can this be you--so--so beautiful? Speaks different too!" "O Jerry dear--won't you kiss me?" "Glory be!" he exclaimed, taking her outstretched hands. "Though so very different 'tis the same sweet maid--'tis the very same Ann as learned to read an' write s' wonderful quick--Glory be!" And so they kissed each other. Then walking between us, busy with question and answer, he brought us where stood his weather-beaten, four-wheeled chaise with Diogenes, that equine philosopher, cropping the grass as sedulously as though he had never left off and who, lifting shaggy head, snorted unimpassioned greeting and promptly began to nibble again. Butter, a new loaf, ham and eggs and coffee! What hungry mortals could desire more? And now the Tinker and I, sitting side by side in the leafy shade, watched our Diana who, scornful of all assistance, prepared breakfast with her own quick, capable hands. What words are there may adequately describe this meal? With what appetite we ate, all three; how we talked and laughed for small reason or no reason at all. "Lord, Ann!" exclaimed the Tinker, glancing from the piece of ham on his knife point to Diana's stately beauty. "'Tis wonderful what two years can do! You don't need any book of etiquette these days--you look so proud, so noble--aye, as any duchess in a nov-el or out! Lord love you, Ann, it don't seem right any more as you should be a-drinkin' coffee out of a tin mug along of a travellin' tinker in patched breeches, that it don't! I reckon you've seen a lot o' the grand world an' plenty o' fine folk, eh Ann?" "Enough to know the simpler joys are always the best, dear Jerry, and to love the Silent Places more than ever. And as for you, Jerry, there never was such a tinker before--" "And never will be again!" I added. "And so we mean to stay with you awhile, don't we, Peregrine?" "Excellent!" said I. "We will shift camp to the old place--"