Out of the basket came little green dishes, a pat of butter, a jug of cream, a bowl of berries, a plate of biscuits. "Riz," was the tinker's comment as he put down the last named; and then followed what appeared to Patsy to be round, brown, sugared buns with holes in them. These he passed twice under her nose with a triumphant flourish. "And what might they be?" Her curiosity was reaching the breaking-point. "If ye bring out another thing from that basket I'll believe ye're in league with Bodh Dearg himself, or ye've stolen the faeries' trencher of plenty." For reply the tinker dived once more beneath the cover and brought out a frying-pan full of bacon, and four white eggs. "Think whatever you're mind to, I'm going to fry these." But after he had raked over the embers to his complete satisfaction and placed the pan on them, he came back and, picking up one of the "brown buns," slipped it over Patsy's forefinger. "This is a wishin'-ring," he announced, soberly, "though most folks calls 'em somethin' different. Now if you wish a wish--and eat it--all but the hole, you'll have what you've been wishin' for all your life." "How soon will ye be having it?" "In as many days as there are bites." So Patsy bit while the tinker checked them off on his fingers. "One, two, three, four, five, six. You'll get your wish by the seventh day, sure, or I'm no tinker." [Illustration: "If you wish a wish and eat it--all but the hole, you'll have what you've been wishin' for all your life."] "But are ye?" Patsy shook the de-ringed finger at him accusingly. "I'm beginning to have my doubts as to whether ye're a tinker at all. Ye are foolish one minute, and ye've more wits than I have the next; I've caught ye looking too lonesome and helpless to be allowed beyond reach of our mother's kerchief-end, and yet last night and the day ye've taken care of me as if ye'd been hired out to tend babies since ye were one yourself. As for your language, ye never speak twice the same." The tinker grinned. "That bacon's burnin'; I--cal'ate I'd better turn it, hadn't I?" "I--cal'ate you had," and Patsy grinned back at him derisively. The tinker was master of ceremonies, and he served her as any courtier might have served his liege lady. He shook out the diminutive serviette he had brought for her and spread it across her lap; he poured her coffee and sweetened it according to direction; he even buttered her "riz" biscuits and poured the cream on her berries. "Are ye laboring under the delusion that the duke's daughter was helpless, entirely?" she asked, at length. The tinker shook an emphatic negative. "I was just thinkin' she might like things a mite decent--onct in a while."