"Do I speak well, rye?" demanded the tinker, with marked surprise. "Well, ye see, I'm a Romany, I am, and we generally speak better than the lower orders of your natives. We have our own tongue, you know--the black language--and speak that among ourselves. But I've been among the Gorgios, rye, in my time, and maybe have picked up their way of talking." "Were you always a tinker?" "Ay! And my father and grandfather before me! We Romany follow the trades of our ancestors, and have our pride, though you Gentiles think us beasts of the field. But never mind my chatter, rye! I don't ask to know your business, so let mine be." After the fight, in which he had proved himself capable of holding his own, Dan could afford to let this reproof pass without the imputation of cowardice, so merely laughed at Tim's asperity, and lighted his pipe. The tinker, restored to good humour by this silent acquiescence, did the same, and the pair were soon puffing amicably together. There is no peacemaker like tobacco. "Who is t' doctor's lass, Tim?" asked Dan, suddenly. "Ho, ho! Have you run her to earth, rye? Isn't she a beauty?--eyes like stars, and hair like midnight!" "You know her, then?" "Every one for ten miles round knows her. She's out on the moors from dawn till sunset. A born Romany she is, though coming of Gorgio stock. And where did you clap eyes on her, rye?" "Coming up through the Gates of Dawn at sunrise." "Ay! Been swimming, I guess!" "Can she swim?" "Like an otter. And ride, and shoot, and fish, and tramp her thirty miles a day." "Quite a Diana!" "I don't know about no Diana," retorted Tim, gruffly; "but she's a clipper, and no mistake. Her fist is as ready as her tongue." "Borrow's Isopel in the flesh!" thought Dan, who listened eagerly to this account of his unknown nymph. "And what is the name of this Amazon?" he asked aloud. "Meg Merle. She's the daughter of Dr. Merle, who lives in Farbis village. An old fool he is, who sleeps and dreams and shuts his eyes to her beauty." "She is beautiful," said Dan, reflectively; "very--very beautiful!" Tim looked at him suspiciously and frowned. An unpleasant thought had just crossed his mind. "She's as good as she's beautiful, rye," he growled, "and can look after herself, I reckon. I shouldn't like to be the man who put an insult on her. I'd smash him," added the tinker, bringing down his huge fist with terrific force--"I'd smash him!" "Is that meant for me?" asked Dan, sharply, noting the suspicious look in the eyes of his guest. "Them as the cap fits can wear it, rye! You're a gentleman, though you don't choose to call yourself one, and gentlemen think country girls fine game; so----" "That's quite sufficient, my friend," cried the vagrant. "I know what you are about to say. Don't bellow out your warning. Gentleman or no gentleman, she has no need to fear me."