re evening the
little town lay dusky in a scud of snow mist. The old stairs were
quivering in the storm as Trove climbed them.

"Welcome, good youth," said the clock tinker, shaking the boy's
hand as he came in. "Ho there! me servitors. Let the feast be
spread," he called in a loud voice, stepping quickly to the stove
that held an upper deck of wood, whereon were dishes. "Right Hand
bring the meat an' Left Hand the potatoes an' Quick Foot give us
thy help here."

He suited his action to the words, placing a platter of ham and
eggs in the centre of a small table and surrounding it with hot
roast potatoes, a pot of tea, new biscuit, and a plate of honey.

"Ho! Wit an' Happiness, attend upon us here," said he, making
ready to sit down.

Then, as if he had forgotten something, he hurried to the door and
opened it.

"Care, thou skeleton, go hence, and thou, Poverty, go also, and see
thou return not before cock-crow," said he, imperatively.

"You have many servants," said Trove.

"An' how may one have a castle without servants? Forsooth, boy,
horses an' hounds, an' lords an' ladies have to be attended to.
But the retinoo is that run down ye'd think me home a hospital.
Wit is a creeping dotard, and Happiness he is in poor health an'
can barely drag himself to me table, an' Hope is a tippler, an'
Right Hand is getting the palsy. Alack! me best servant left me a
long time ago."

"And who was he?"

"Youth! lovely, beautiful Youth! but let us be happy. I would not
have him back--foolish, inconstant Youth! dreaming dreams an'
seeing visions. God love ye, boy! what is thy dream?"

This rallying style of talk, in which the clock tinker indulged so
freely, afforded his young friend no little amusement. His tongue
had long obeyed the lilt of classic diction; his thought came easy
in Elizabethan phrase. The slight Celtic brogue served to enhance
the piquancy of his talk. Moreover he was really a man of wit and
imagination.

"Once," said the boy, after a little hesitation, "I thought I
should try to be a statesman, but now I am sure I would rather
write books."

"An' what kind o' books, pray?"

"Tales."

"An' thy merchandise be truth, capital!" exclaimed the tinker.
"Hast thou an ear for tales?"

"I'm very fond of them."

"Marry, I'll tell thee a true tale, not for thy ear only but for
thy soul, an' some day, boy, 'twill give thee occupation for thy
wits."

"I'd love to hear it," said the boy.

Th