He came shortly and sat beside the young man.
"Put away thy unhappiness," said he, gently, patting the boy's hand. "No harm shall come to thee—'tis only a passing cloud."
"You're right, and I'm not going to be a fool," said Trove. "It has all brought me one item of good fortune."
"An' that is?"
"I have discovered who is my father."
"An' know ye where he is now?" the tinker inquired.
"No; but I know it is he to whom you gave the boots at Christmas time."
"Hush, boy," said Darrel, in a whisper, his hand raised.
He crossed to the bench, returning quickly and drawing his chair in front of the young man.
"Once upon a time," he whispered, sitting down and touching the palm of his open hand with the index finger of the other, "a youth held in his hand a cup, rare an' costly, an' it was full o' happiness, an' he was tempted to drink. 'Ho, there, me youth,' said one who saw him, 'that is the happiness of another.' But he tasted the cup, an' it was bitter, an' he let it fall, an' the other lost his great possession. Now that bitter taste was ever on the tongue o' the youth, so that his own cup had always the flavour o' woe."