s of their fellows have to supply the
deficiency. They do it with just as haunting, and even more horrible
pertinacity, than the inner voice, and the result, if the probation be
not very severe and searching, is the same. The leader can rely on the
faithfulness of his host: the comrade is sworn to serve. Master Ripton
Thompson was naturally loyal. The idea of turning off and forsaking his
friend never once crossed his mind, though his condition was desperate,
and his friend's behaviour that of a Bedlamite. He announced several
times impatiently that they would be too late for dinner. His friend did
not budge. Dinner seemed nothing to him. There he lay plucking grass, and
patting the old dog's nose, as if incapable of conceiving what a thing
hunger was. Ripton took half-a-dozen turns up and down, and at last flung
himself down beside the taciturn boy, accepting his fate.

Now, the chance that works for certain purposes sent a smart shower from
the sinking sun, and the wet sent two strangers for shelter in the lane
behind the hedge where the boys reclined. One was a travelling tinker,
who lit a pipe and spread a tawny umbrella. The other was a burly young
countryman, pipeless and tentless. They saluted with a nod, and began
recounting for each other's benefit the daylong-doings of the weather, as
it had affected their individual experience and followed their
prophecies. Both had anticipated and foretold a bit of rain before night,
and therefore both welcomed the wet with satisfaction. A monotonous
betweenwhiles kind of talk they kept droning, in harmony with the still
hum of the air. From the weather theme they fell upon the blessings of
tobacco; how it was the poor man's friend, his company, his consolation,
his comfort, his refuge at night, his first thought in the morning.

"Better than a wife!" chuckled the tinker. "No curtain-lecturin' with a
pipe. Your pipe an't a shrew."

"That be it!" the other chimed in. "Your pipe doan't mak' ye out wi' all
the cash Saturday evenin'."

"Take one," said the tinker, in the enthusiasm of the moment, handing a
grimy short clay. Speed-the-Plough filled from the tinker's pouch, and
continued his praises.

"Penny a day, and there y'are, primed! Better than a wife? Ha, ha!"

"And you can get rid of it, if ye wants for to, and when ye wants," added
tinker.

"So ye can!" Speed-the-Plough took him up. "And ye doan't want for to.
Leastways, t'other case. I means pipe."

"And," cont