“Why, what is the matter, dear cousin?”
“Do you see that man and boy, with a knife-grinder’s wheel, just in sight now?”
“Yes, to be sure I do; but what of them? Have they been insolent?”
“Insolent! they never saw me; they had no idea that I was here. I heard voices as I came down the walk, so I moved softly, and when I gained the seat, there was somebody reading poetry so beautifully; I never heard any one read with such correct emphasis and clear pronunciation. And then he stopped, and talked to the boy about the Greek and Latin poets, and quoted Shakespeare. There must be some mystery.”
“Well, but if there is, what has that to do with the travelling tinkers?”
“What! why it was the travelling tinker himself; dearest; but he cannot be a tinker; for I heard him say that he expected letters of consequence, and no travelling tinker could do that.”
“Why, no; I doubt if most of them can read at all.”
“Now, I would give my little finger to know who that person is.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No; he never turned this way; the boy did when they were some distance off. It’s very strange.”