Darrel of the Blessed Isles | Page 8

down its main thoroughfare,
went up a street of gloom and narrowness between dingy workshops.
At one of them, shaky, and gray with the stain of years, they halted.
The two lower windows in front were dim with dirt and cobwebs. A
board above them was the rude sign of Sam Bassett, carpenter. On the
side of the old shop was a flight of sagging, rickety stairs. At the height
of a man's head an old brass dial was nailed to the gray boards.
Roughly lettered in lampblack beneath it were the words, "Clocks
Mended." They climbed the shaky stairs to a landing, supported by
long braces, and whereon was a broad door, with latch and keyhole in
its weathered timber.
"All bow at this door," said the old tinker, as he put his long iron key in
the lock. "It's respect for their own heads, not for mine," he continued,
his hand on the eaves that overhung below the level of the door-top.
They entered a loft, open to the peak and shingles, with a window in
each end. Clocks, dials, pendulums, and tiny cog-wheels of wood and
brass were on a long bench by the street window. Thereon, also, were a
vice and tools. The room was cleanly, with a crude homelikeness about
it. Chromos and illustrated papers had been pasted on the rough, board
walls.

"On me life, it is cold," said the tinker, opening a small stove and
beginning to whittle shavings, "'Cold as a dead man's nose.' Be seated,
an' try--try to be happy."
There was an old rocker and two small chairs in the room.
"I do not feel the cold," said Trove, taking one of them.
"Belike, good youth, thou hast the rose of summer in thy cheeks," said
the old man.
"And no need of an overcoat," the boy answered, removing the one he
wore and passing it to the tinker. "I wish you to keep it, sir."
"Wherefore, boy? 'Twould best serve me on thy back."
"Please take it," said Trove. "I cannot bear to think of you shivering in
the cold. Take it, and make me happy."
"Well, if it keep me warm, an' thee happy, it will be a wonderful coat,"
said the old man, wiping his gray eyes.
Then he rose and filled the stove with wood and sat down, peering at
Trove between the upper rim of his spectacles and the feathery arches
of silvered hair upon his brows.
"Thy coat hath warmed me heart already--thanks to the good God!"
said he, fervently. "Why so kind?"
"If I am kind, it is because I must be," said the boy. "Who were my
father and mother, I never knew. If I meet a man who is in need, I say
to myself, 'He may be my father or my brother, I must be good to him;'
and if it is a woman, I cannot help thinking that, maybe, she is my
mother or my sister. So I should have to be kind to all the people in the
world if I were to meet them."
"Noble suspicion! by the faith o' me fathers!" said the old man,
thoughtfully, rubbing his long nose. "An' have ye thought further in the
matter? Have ye seen whither it goes?"
"I fear not."
"Well, sor, under the ancient law, ye reap as ye have sown, but more
abundantly. I gave me coat to one that needed it more, an' by the
goodness o' God I have reaped another an' two friends. Hold to thy
course, boy, thou shalt have friends an' know their value. An' then thou
shalt say, 'I'll be kind to this man because he may be a friend;' an' love
shall increase in thee, an' around thee, an' bring happiness. Ah, boy! in
the business o' the soul, men pay thee better than they owe. Kindness
shall bring friendship, an' friendship shall bring love, an' love shall

bring happiness, an' that, sor, that is the approval o' God. What
speculation hath such profit? Hast thou learned to think?"
"I hope I have," said the boy.
"Prithee--think a thought for me. What is the first law o' life?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Thy pardon, boy," said the venerable tinker, filling a clay pipe and
stretching himself on a lounge. "Thou art not long out o' thy clouts. It is,
'Thou shalt learn to think an' obey.' Consider how man and beast are
bound by it. Very well--think thy way up. Hast thou any fear?"
The old man was feeling his gray hair, thoughtfully.
"Only the fear o' God," said the boy, after a moment of hesitation.
"Well, on me word, I am full sorry," said the tinker. "Though mind ye,
boy, fear is an excellent good thing, an' has done