d me, sor, an' I took to wandering in the open air.
Ten years ago in the city of New York me wife died, since when I
have been tinkering here in the edges o' the woodland, where I have
found health an' friendship an' good cheer. Faith, sor, that is
all one needs, save the company o' the poets.

"'I pray an' sing an' tell old tales an' laugh
At gilded butterflies, an' hear poor rogues
Talk o' court news.'"

Trove had missed not a word nor even a turn of the eye in all that
scene. After years of acquaintance with the tinker he had not yet
ventured a question as to his life history. The difference of age
and a certain masterly reserve in the old gentleman had seemed to
discourage it. A prying tongue in a mere youth would have met
unpleasant obstacles with Darrel. Never until that day had he
spoken freely of his past in the presence of the young man.

"I must see you again," said the tragedian, rising. "Of those
parts I try to play, which do you most like?"

"St. Paul," said Darrel, quickly. "Last night, sor, in this great
theatre, we heard the voice o' the prophet. Ah, sor, it was like a
trumpet on the walls of eternity. I commend to thee the part o'
St. Paul. Next to that--of all thy parts, Lear."

"Lear?" said Forrest, rising. "I am to play it this autumn. Come,
then, to New York. Give me your address, and I'll send for you."

"Sor," said Darrel, thoughtfully, "I can give thee much o' me love
but little o' me time. Nay, there'd be trouble among the clocks.
I'd be ashamed to look them in the face. Nay,--I thank thee,--but
I must mind the clocks."

The great player smiled with amusement.

"Then," said he, "I shall have to come and see you play your part.
Till then, sir, God give you happiness."

"Once upon a time," said Darrel, as he held the hand of the player,
"a weary traveller came to the gate o' Heaven, seeking entrance.

"'What hast thou in thy heart?' said the good St. Peter.

"'The record o' great suffering an' many prayers,' said the poor
man. 'I pray thee now, give me the happiness o' Heaven.'

"'Good man, we have none to spare,' said the keeper. 'Heaven hath
no happiness but that men bring. It is a gift to God and comes not
from Him. Would ye take o' that we have an' bring nothing? Nay,
go back to thy toil an' fill thy heart with happiness, an' bring it
to me overflowing. Then shalt thou know the joy o' paradise.
Remember, God giveth counsel, but not happiness.'"

"If