“Oh! sir, you're burning your wooden leg!” said the little girl, while Darby was gazing at her, and wondering who and what she could be; and so absorbed was the worthy ballad-singer in the interesting speculation, that he had, in fact, forgotten to withdraw his leg from beneath the crock, where he had just placed it, as will be recollected, when the little girl touched his elbow. At the moment she advised him of the fact, Darby received a hint or two that corroborated her assertion;--the flame had twined up the stem, and rather warmed his stump, and the fire blazed with such vigour, recruited as it was by the supply, that the broth boiled over. His two companions, who were close at hand, both observed this latter circumstance an instant after the child had spoken; the pedlar cried aloud to Darby to save the broth, and the tinker shouted with glee to see the Irishman sacrificing his trusty support for the common good. Doherty did not lose his presence of mind: he withdrew his leg from the fire, and popped it into the pot;--thus extinguishing the stump, withdrawing the additional stimulus to the fire, and breaking down the rebellious head of the herring-broth, by that single and simple act. The child could not refrain from giggling, miserable as she evidently was, at the scene; and Darby looked alternately at her and his leg, when he withdrew it from the pot again, in so droll a manner, that the little girl burst into a fit of laughter, which the Irishman, very good-naturedly, subdued, or rather, smothered with kisses. “Well, my pretty little maid!” said he; “and where have you come from, agrah! eh?” “Oh! a long--long way; it's farther than I thought it was when I began.” “And what do you want at the revel?” “I mustn't tell you.” “Eh, then! why not, eh?” “If I was to tell you why I mustn't, you'd know what I wanted at the revel.” “And where's your stockings and shoes? Have you put them in your pocket, as the girls do in Ireland?” “No, indeed;--I wore them out yesterday.” “And how far have you walked barefoot?” “Oh! ever so far!” “And how far's that?” “I can't tell.--Is this the road to the revel?” “It is;--but what hurry? Won't you wait and take pot-luck with us?” “I'm hungry, thank you, sir, but I don't think I could eat any pot-luck,--it smells so odd; I never tasted pot-luck in my life; but I thank you, sir, for all that, you know.” “Now, do you hear that? Do you hear the innocence of her? God send we'd better for you!--though you won't tell us where you come from.” “I shouldn't wonder but she hath been stole away,” said the tinker; “stole away, and carried afar, and now hath got liberty, and is seeking home again. That's nature, you know:--a pigeon would do it; a carrier, a horseman, a dragoon, or a middling good tumbler even; and why shouldn't a child?”