"Have ye never felt the love passion?" said Darrel.
"Well, there's a girl of the name of Polly," Trove answered.
"Ah, Polly! she o' the red lip an' the dark eye," said Darrel,
smiling. "She's one of a thousand." He clapped his hand upon his
knee, merrily, and sang a sentimental couplet from an old Irish
ballad.
"Have ye won her affection, boy?" he added, his hand on the boy's
arm.
"I think I have."
"God love thee! I'm glad to hear it," said the old man. "She is a
living wonder, boy, a living wonder, an' had I thy youth I'd give
thee worry."
"Since her mother cannot afford to do it, I wish to send her away
to school," said Trove.
"Tut, tut, boy; thou hast barely enough for thy own schooling."
"I've eighty-two dollars in my pocket," said Trove, proudly. "I do
not need it. The job in the mill--that will feed me and pay my
room rent, and my clothes will do me for another year."
"On me word, boy; I like it in thee," said Darrel; "but surely she
would not take thy money."
"I could not offer it to her, but you might go there, and perhaps
she would take it from you."
"Capital!" the tinker exclaimed. "I'll see if I can serve thee.
Marry, good youth, I'll even give away thy money an' take credit
for thy benevolence.
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