I stayed listening to these people till evening was at hand. I then left them, and without returning to the inn strolled over the bridge to the green, where the tents stood. I went up to them: two women sat at the entrance of one; a man stood by them, and the children, whom I had before seen, were gambolling near at hand. One of the women was about forty, the other some twenty years younger; both were ugly. The younger was a rude, stupid-looking creature, with red cheeks and redder hair, but there was a dash of intelligence and likewise of wildness in the countenance of the elder female, whose complexion and hair were rather dark. The man was about the same age as the elder woman; he had rather a sharp look, and was dressed in hat, white frock-coat, corduroy breeches, long stockings and shoes. I gave them the seal of the evening. “Good evening to your haner,” said the man. “Good evening to you, sir,” said the woman; whilst the younger mumbled something, probably to the same effect, but which I did not catch. “Fine weather,” said I. “Very, sir,” said the elder female. “Won’t you please to sit down?” and reaching back into the tent, she pulled out a stool which she placed near me. I sat down on the stool. “You are not from these parts?” said I, addressing myself to the man. “We are not, your haner,” said the man; “we are from Ireland.” “And this lady,” said I, motioning with my head to the elder female, “is, I suppose, your wife.” “She is, your haner, and the children which your haner sees are my children.” “And who is this young lady?” said I, motioning to the uncouth-looking girl. “The young lady, as your haner is pleased to call her, is a daughter of a sister of mine who is now dead, along with her husband. We have her with us, your haner, because if we did not she would be alone in the world.” “And what trade or profession do you follow?” said I. “We do a bit in the tinkering line, your haner.” “Do you find tinkering a very profitable profession?” said I. “Not very, your haner; but we contrive to get a crust and a drink by it.” “That’s more than I ever could,” said I. “Has your haner then ever followed tinkering?” said the man. “Yes,” said I, “but I soon left off.” “And became a minister,” said the elder female. “Well, your honour is not the first indifferent tinker, that’s turn’d out a shining minister.” “Why do you think me a minister?” “Because your honour has the very look and voice of one. Oh, it was kind of your honour to come to us here in the Sabbath evening, in order that you might bring us God.” “What do you mean by bringing you God?” said I. “Talking to us about good things, sir, and instructing us out of the Holy Book.” “I am no minister,” said I.