Patsy looked and saw. So engrossed had she been in the incidents of the last hour or more that she had not observed the changing country. Here were no longer pastures, tilled fields, houses with neighboring barn-yards, and unclaimed woodland; no longer was the road fringed with stone walls or stump fencing. Well-rolled golf-links stretched away on either hand as far as they could see; and, beyond, through the trees, showed roofs of red tile and stained shingle; and trimmed hedges skirted everything. "'Tis the rich man's country," commented Patsy. "It is, and I'd crawl into a hole and starve before I'd take charity from one of them." "Sure and ye would. When a body's poor 'tis only the poor like himself he'd be asking help of. Don't I know! What's yonder house?" She broke off with a jerk and pointed ahead to a small building, sitting well back from the road, partly hidden in the surrounding clumps of trees. "It's a stable; house burned down last year and it hasn't been used by any one since." "And I'll wager it's as snug as a pocket inside--with fresh hay or straw, plenty to make a lad comfortable. Isn't that grand good luck for ye?" The tinker found it hard to echo Patsy's enthusiasm, but he did his best. "Of course; and it's just the place to leave a lad behind in when a lass has seven miles to tramp before she gets to the end of her journey." "Is that so?" Patsy's tone sounded suspiciously sarcastic. "Well, talking's not walking; supposing ye take the staff in one hand and lean your other on me, and we'll see can we make it before this time to-morrow." They made it in another hour, unobserved by the few straggling players on the links. The stable proved all Patsy had anticipated. She watched the tinker sink, exhausted, on the bedded hay, while she pulled down a forgotten horse-blanket from a near-by peg to throw over him; then she turned in a business-like manner back to the door. "Are you going to Arden?" came the faint voice of the tinker after her. "I might--and then again--I mightn't. Was there any word ye might want me to fetch ahead for ye?" "No; only--perhaps--would you think a chap too everlastingly impertinent to ask you to wait there for him--until he caught up with you?" "I might--and then again--I mightn't." At the door she stopped, and for the second time considered her hands speculatively. "It wouldn't inconvenience your feelings any to take charity from me, would it, seeing I'm as poor as yourself and have dragged ye into this common, tuppenny brawl by my own foolishness?" "You didn't drag me in; I had one foot in already." "I thought so," Patsy nodded, approvingly; her conviction had been correct, then. "And the charity?"