Teacher, philanthropist, lover--I believe
thou'rt ready to write."
"The plan of my first novel is complete," said Trove. "That poor
thief,--he shall be my chief character,--the man of whom you told
me."
"Poor man! God make thee kind to him," said the tinker. "An'
thou'rt willing, I'll hear o' him to-night. When the firelight
flickers,--that is the time, boy, for tales."
They built a rude lean-to, covered with bark, and bedded with
fragrant boughs. Both lay in the firelight, Darrel smoking his
pipe, as the night fell.
"Now for thy tale," said the tinker.
The tale was Trove's own solution of his life mystery, shrewdly
come to, after a long and careful survey of the known facts. And
now, shortly, time was to put the seal of truth upon it, and daze
him with astonishment, and fill him with regret of his cunning. It
should be known that he had never told Darrel or any one of his
coming in the little red sleigh.
He lay thinking for a time after the tinker spoke. Then he began:--
"Well, the time is 1833, the place a New England city on the sea.
Chapter I: A young woman is walking along a street, with a child
sleeping in her arms. She is dark-skinned,--a Syrian.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174