nse to one's nostrils;
and the tinker heaved a deep sigh of relief as the last flare died
down into a heap of black, smudgy embers.

"That Green County sheriff will have a long way to go now if he's
still looking for a girl in a brown suit," he chuckled.

Sleep laid the O'Connell temper. When Patsy awoke her eyes were as
serene as the patches of June sky framed by her windows, and she felt
at peace with the world and all the tinkers in it.

"'Twould be flattering the lad too much entirely to make up with him
before breakfast; but I'll be letting him tramp the road to Arden
with me, and we'll part there good friends. Troth, maybe he was a bit
lonesome," she added by way of concession.

She sprang out of bed with a glad little laugh; the day had a grand
beginning, spilling sunshine and bird-song into every corner of her
room, and to Patsy's optimistic soul a good beginning insured a
better ending. As she dressed she planned that ending to her own
liking and according to the most approved rules of dramatic
construction: The tinker should turn out a wandering genius, for in
her heart she could not believe the accusations she had hurled
against him the night past; when they reached Arden they would come
upon the younger Burgeman, contemplating immediate suicide; this
would give her her cue, and she would administer trust and a general
bracer with one hand as she removed the revolver with the other; in
gratitude he would divulge the truth about the forgery--he did it to
save the honor of some lady--after which the tinker would sponsor
him, tramping him off on the road to take the taste of gold out of
his mouth and teach him the real meaning of life.

Patsy had no difficulty with her construction until she came to the
final curtain; here she hesitated. She might trail off to find King
Midas and square Billy with him, or--the curtain might drop leaving
her right center, wishing both lads "God-speed." Neither ending was
entirely satisfactory, however; the mental effect of the tinker going
off with some one else--albeit it was another lad--was anything but
satisfying.

The house was strangely quiet. Patsy stopped frequently in her
playmaking to listen for some sounds of human occupancy other than
her own, but there was none.

"Poor lad! Maybe I killed him last night when I kicked the tea-things
down the stairs after him; or, most likely, the O'Connell temper has
him stiffened out with fear so he daren't move hand or foot