The tinker paused a moment, looking sternly into the face of the young man.
"I adjure thee, boy, touch not the cup of another's happiness, or it may imbitter thy tongue. But if thou be foolish an' take it up, mind ye do not drop it."
"I shall be careful—I shall neither taste nor drop it," said Trove.
"God bless thee, boy! thou'rt come to a great law—who drains the cup of another's happiness shall find it bitter, but who drains the cup of another's bitterness shall find it sweet."
A silence followed, in which Trove sat looking at the old man whose words were like those of a prophet. "I have no longer any right to seek my father," he thought. "And, though I meet him face to face, I must let him go his way."
Suddenly there came a rap at the door, and when Darrel opened it, they saw only a letter hanging to the latch. It contained these words, but no signature:—
"There'll be a bonfire and some fun to-night at twelve, in the middle of Cook's field. Messrs. Trove and Darrel are invited."
"Curious," said Darrel. "It has the look o' mischief."
"Oh, it's only the boys and a bit of skylarking," said Trove.
"Let's go and see what's up—it's near the time."
The streets were dark and silent as they left the shop. They went up a street beyond the village limits and looked off in Cook's field but saw no light there. While they stood looking a flame rose and spread. Soon they could see figures in the light, and, climbing the fence, they hastened across an open pasture. Coming near they saw a score of men with masks upon their faces.