twinkled down upon us through the leaves. "So they've been for ages,
and so they will be, winking down through the dark upon you an' me an'
others like us, to teach us by their wisdom. An' as to our
souls--Lord, I've seen so many corpses in my time I know the soul
can't die. Corpses? Aye, by goles, I'm always a-finding of 'em. Found
one in this very copse none so long ago--very young she was--poor,
lonely lass! Ah, well! Her troubles be all forgot, long ago. An'
here's the likes o' you sitting along o' the likes o' me in a wood at
midnight--you as should be snug in sheets luxoorious, judging by your
looks--an' wherefore not, young friend?"

Now there was about this small, quick, keen-eyed tinker a latent
kindliness, a sympathy that attracted me involuntarily, so that, after
some demur, I told him my story in few words as possible and careful
to suppress all names. Long before I had ended he had laid by hammer
and kettle and turned, elbows on knees and chin on sinewy fists,
viewing me steadfastly where I sat in the fireglow.

"So you make verses likewise, do you?" he questioned, when I had done.

"Yes."

"And can paint pic-toors, beside?"

"Yes--of a sort!" I answered, finding myself suddenly and strangely
diffident.

"An' you so young!" said he in hushed and awestruck tones. "Have you
writ many poems, sir?"