But one there was who lagged behind, a little boy with an old, old face, who watched the others go and then crept closer, held by the spell of the tale. He pulled at Patsy's sleeve to gain attention. "I'm--I'm Joseph. Was it true--most of it?" She nodded a reply as solemn as his question, "Aye, as true as youth and the world itself." "And would it come true for another boy--any boy--who went a-tramping off like that? Would he find--whatever he was wishin' for?" And even as he spoke his eyes left hers and went searching for the far-away hills--and what might lie beyond. "Come here, little lad." Patsy drew him to her and put two steadying hands on his shoulders. She knew that he, too, had heard the call of the road and the longing to be gone--to be one with it, journeying to meet the mysterious unknown--was upon him. "Hearken to me: 'Tis only safe for a little lad to be going when he has three things to fetch with him--the wish to find something worth the bringing home, the knowledge of what makes good company along the way, and trust in himself. When ye are sure of these, go; but ye'll no longer be a little lad, I'm thinking. And remember first to get the mother's blessing and 'God-speed,' same as Jack; a lad's journey ends nowhere that begins without that." He went without a word, but content; and his eyes brimmed with visions. Patsy watched him tenderly. "Who knows--he may find greatness on his road. Who knows?" The tinker dropped the bundle he had brought back from the store into her lap, but she scarcely heeded him. Her eyes were looking out into the gathering dusk while her voice sank almost to a whisper. "_Ochone!_ but I've always envied that piper fellow from Hamelin town. Think of being able to gather up all the childther hereabouts, eager, hungry-hearted childther with mothers too busy or deaf to heed them, and leading them away to find their fortunes! Wouldn't that be wonderful, just?" "What kind of fortunes?" asked the tinker. "What but the best kind!" Patsy thought for a moment, and smiled whimsically while her eyes grew strangely starry in that early twilight. "Wouldn't I like to be choosing those fortunes, and wouldn't they be an odd lot, entirely! There'd be singing hearts that had learned to sing above trouble; there'd be true fellowship--the kind that finds brotherhood in beggars as well as--as prime ministers; there'd be peace of soul--not the kind that naps by the fire, content that the wind doesn't be blowing down his chimney, but the kind that fights above fighting and keeps neighbor from harrying neighbor. Troth, the world is in mortial need of fortunes like the last." "And wouldn't you be choosin' gold for a fortune?" asked the tinker. Patsy shook her head vehemently. "Why not?" "That's the why!" Suddenly Patsy clenched her hands and shook two menacing fists against the gathering dark. "I hate gold, along with the meanness and the lying and the thieving and the false judgment it brings into the world."