"
"Ah, let the girl love," said Darrel, patting the red cheek of
Polly, "an' bless God she loves a worthy lad,"
"You'd better fix the clock." said Polly, smiling. "It is too
fast, now."
"So is the beat o' thy heart," Darrel answered, a merry look in his
eyes, "an' the clock is keeping pace."
Trove got up, with a laugh, and went away, the boys following.
"I'm worried about him," the widow whispered. "For a long time he
hasn't been himself."
"It's the trouble--poor lad! 'Twill soon be over," said Darrel,
hopefully.
There were now tears in the eyes of Polly.
"I do not think he loves me any more," said she, her lips trembling.
"Speak not so, dear child; indeed he loves thee."
"I have done everything to please him," said Polly, in broken
words, her face covered with her handkerchief.
"I wondered what was the matter with you, Polly," said her mother,
tenderly.
"Dear, dear child!" said the tinker, rising and patting her head.
"The chaplet on thy brow an' thee weeping!--fairest flower of all!"
"I have wished that I was dead;" the words came in a little moan
between sobs.
"Because: Love hath led thee to the great river o' tears? Nay,
child, 'tis a winding river an' crosses all the roads.
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