"Ay! And my father and grandfather before me! We Romany follow the trades of our ancestors, and have our pride, though you Gentiles think us beasts of the field. But never mind my chatter, rye! I don't ask to know your business, so let mine be."
After the fight, in which he had proved himself capable of holding his own, Dan could afford to let this reproof pass without the imputation of cowardice, so merely laughed at Tim's asperity, and lighted his pipe. The tinker, restored to good humour by this silent acquiescence, did the same, and the pair were soon puffing amicably together. There is no peacemaker like tobacco.
"Who is t' doctor's lass, Tim?" asked Dan, suddenly.
"Ho, ho! Have you run her to earth, rye? Isn't she a beauty?--eyes like stars, and hair like midnight!"
"You know her, then?"
"Every one for ten miles round knows her. She's out on the moors from dawn till sunset. A born Romany she is, though coming of Gorgio stock. And where did you clap eyes on her, rye?"
"Coming up through the Gates of Dawn at sunrise."
"Ay! Been swimming, I guess!"
"Can she swim?"
"Like an otter. And ride, and shoot, and fish, and tramp her thirty miles a day."