"I am so ashamed of myself I'd like to go
lie in your wood box while I talk to you."
"'What hempen homespun have we swaggering here?'" Darrel quoted in
a rallying voice.
"I'll tell you." Trove began.
"Nay, first a roundel," said the tinker, as he began to shuffle his
feet to the measure of an old fairy song.
"If one were on his way to the gallows, you would make him laugh,"
said Trove, smiling.
"An I could, so would I," said the old man. "A smile, boy, hath in
it 'some relish o' salvation.' Now, tell me, what is thy trouble?"
"I'm going to leave school," said Trove.
"An' wherefore?"
"I'm sick of this pinching poverty. Look at my clothes; I thought
I could make them do, but I can't."
He put the two notes in Darrel's hand. The tinker wiped his
spectacles and then read them both.
"Tut, tut, boy!" said he, presently, with a very grave look. "Have
ye forgotten the tatters that were as a badge of honour an'
success? Weeks ago I planned to find thee better garments, but, on
me word, I had no heart for it. Nay, these old ones had become
dear to me. I was proud o' them--ay, boy, proud o' them. When I
saw the first patch on thy coat, said I, 'It is the little ensign
o' generosity.
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