I understand him, it's a point of honour with the boy not
to pledge her to marriage until she has seen more o' life an' made
sure of her own heart. Now, consider this: let her go to the
school at Hillsborough, an' I'll pay the cost."

The widow looked up at him without speaking.

"I'm an old man near the end o' this journey, an' ye've known me
many years," Darrel went on. "There's nothing can be said against
it. Nay; I'll have no thanks. Would ye thank the money itself,
the bits o' paper? No; nor Roderick Darrel, who, in this business,
is no more worthy o' gratitude. Hush! who comes?"

It was Polly herself in a short, red skirt, her arms bare to the
elbows. She began to busy herself about the house.

"Too bad you took off that pretty dress, Polly," said Trove, when
he returned.

She came near and whispered to him.

"This," said she, looking down sadly, "is like the one I wore when
you first came."

"Well, first I thought of your arms," said he, "they were so
lovely! Then of your eyes and face and gown, but now I think only
of the one thing,--Polly."

The girl was happy, now, and went on with the work, singing, while
Trove lent a hand.

A score of people came up the hill from Pleasant Valley that night.
Tunk went after the old maids and came with them in the chaise at
supper time. There were two wagon-loads of young people, and,
before dusk, men and their wives came sauntering up the roadway and
in at the little gate.

Two or three of the older men wore suits of black broadcloth, the
stock and rolling collar--relics of "old decency" back in Vermont
or Massachusetts or Connecticut. Most were in rough homespun over
white shirts with no cuffs or collar. All gathered about Darrel,
who sat smoking outside the door. He rose and greeted each one of
the women with a bow and a compliment. The tinker was a man of
unfailing courtesy, and one thing in him was extremely odd,--even
there in that land of pure democracy,--he treated a scrub-woman
with the same politeness he would have accorded the finest lady.
But he was in no sense a flatterer; none that saw him often were
long in ignorance of that. His rebuke was even quicker than his
compliment, as many had reason to know. And there was another
curious thing about Darrel,--these people and many more loved him,
gathering about his chair as he tinkered, hearing with delight the
lore and wisdom of his tongue, but, after all, there were none that
knew him n