"I meant the Comradeship o' Poverty, friend, the Fellowship o' the Friendless, the Hospitality o' the Homeless. The poor folk on the padding-lay, such as live on the road and by the road, help one another when needful--which is frequent. Those as have little give freely to them as have none--I to-day, you to-morrow. The world would be a poor place else, 'specially for the likes o' we." "Do you mean that all who tramp the road know each other?" "Well, 'ardly that, brother. To be sure, I know most o' the reg'lar padding-coves, but you don't have to know a man to help him." "Are you acquainted with a peddler called Gabbing Dick?" "Aye, poor soul. Dick's father was hung for a crime he didn't commit, just afore Dick was born, which drove his poor mother mad, which is apt to make a child grow up a little queer, d'ye see?" "And old Moll?" said I, with growing diffidence. "Aye, a fine figure of a woman she was once, I mind. But her man was pressed aboard ship and killed, and she starved along of her babby, though she did all she could to live for the child's sake and when it died, she--well, look at her now, poor soul!" "The world would seem a very hard and cruel place!" I exclaimed. "Sometimes, brother--'specially for the poor and friendless. But if there's shadow there's sun, and if there's darkness there's always the dawn. But what o' yourself, friend; you've been fighting I think, judging by your looks?" "Yes, and--I ran away!" I confessed miserably. "Humph!" said the Tinker. "That don't sound very hee-roic!" "But he came back, Jerry!" said Diana in her gentlest voice. "Ha!" exclaimed the Tinker, looking from her to me and back again, keenly. "Then he is hee-roic!" "No!" said I, "No, I'm not--and never can be!" "Oh," said the Tinker. "And why?" "Because I'm not brave enough, strong enough, big enough--" "Lord, young friend, don't be so down-hearted and confounded humble; it aren't nat'ral in one so young! What do you think, Ann?" "That he's hungry," she answered. "Aye, to be sure!" chuckled the Tinker. "And I reckon no hero can feel properly hee-roic when his innards be cold and empty--" "But I'm not hungry," I sighed, "at least--not very. But the longer I live the more I know myself for a hopeless incompetent--lately, at least--a poor, helpless do-nothing--" "Lord love ye, lad," quoth the Tinker, laying his hand upon my bowed shoulder, "if you've learned so much, take comfort, for to know ourselves and our failings is surely the beginning o' wisdom. But if you can't be a conquering hero all at once, don't grieve--you ain't cut out for a fighter--" "He beat Gabbing Dick, anyway," said Diana suddenly, whereat I lifted drooping head and looked towards her gratefully, only to see her vanishing into the dingy little tent again. "Well, but--" said the Tinker as she reappeared, "Gabbing Dick ain't a fighter like Jem Belcher or Gentleman Jack Barty or Jessamy Todd. Dick's a poorish creetur'--"