Green--forever green
are they--and scattered far into the dim distance. Look! there is
the city o' Shakespeare--Norman towers and battlements and Gothic
arches looming above the sea. Go there an' look at the people as
they come an' go. Mingle with them an' find good
company--merry-hearted folk a-plenty, an' God knows I love the
merry-hearted! Talk with them, an' they will teach thee wisdom.
Hard by is the Isle o' Milton, an' beyond are many--it would take
thee years to visit them. Ah, sor, half me time I live in the
Blessed Isles. What is thy affliction, boy?"
He turned to Kent--a boy whose hard luck was proverbial, and whose
left arm was in a sling.
"Broke it wrestling," said the boy.
"Kent has bad luck," said Trove. "Last year he broke his leg."
"Obey the law, or thou shalt break the bone o' thy neck," said
Darrel, quickly.
"I do obey the law," said Trent.
"Ay--the written law," said the clock tinker, "an' small credit to
thee. But the law o' thine own discovery,--the law that is for
thyself an' no other,--hast thou ne'er thought of it? Ill luck is
the penalty o' law-breaking. Therefore study the law that is for
thyself. Already I have discovered one for thee, an' it is, 'I
have not limberness enough in me bones, so I must put them in no
unnecessary peril.
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