"Once," said the boy, after a little hesitation, "I thought I
should try to be a statesman, but now I am sure I would rather
write books."
"An' what kind o' books, pray?"
"Tales."
"An' thy merchandise be truth, capital!" exclaimed the tinker.
"Hast thou an ear for tales?"
"I'm very fond of them."
"Marry, I'll tell thee a true tale, not for thy ear only but for
thy soul, an' some day, boy, 'twill give thee occupation for thy
wits."
"I'd love to hear it," said the boy.
The pendulums were ever swinging like the legs of a procession
trooping through the loft, some with quick steps, some with slow.
Now came a sound as of drums beating. It was for the hour of
eight, and when it stopped the tinker began.
"Once upon a time," said he, as they rose from the table and the
old man went for his pipe, "'twas long ago, an' I had then the rose
o' youth upon me, a man was tempted o' the devil an' stole money--a
large sum--an' made off with it. These hands o' mine used to serve
him those days, an' I remember he was a man comely an' well set up,
an', I think, he had honour an' a good heart in him."
The old man paused.
"I should not think it possible," said Trove, who was at the age of
certainty in his opinions and had long been trained to the
uncompromising thought of the Puritan.
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