"Well, sor, that is more like me. 'Tis long since I rode a horse, an' am out o' place in the saddle."
He stood erect with dignity, a smile deepening the many lines in his face.
"Can I do anything for you?" Allen asked.
"Ay—cure me o' poverty—have ye any clocks to mend?"
"Clocks! Are you a tinker?" said Allen.
"I am, sor, an' at thy service. Could beauty, me lord, have better commerce than with honesty?"
They all surveyed him with curiosity and amusement as he tied the mare.
All had begun to laugh. His words came rapidly on a quick undercurrent of good nature. A clock sounded the stroke of midday.
"What, ho! The clock," said he, looking at his watch. "Thy time hath a lagging foot, Marry, were I that slow, sor, I'd never get to Heaven."
"Mother," said Allen, going to the doorstep, "here is a tinker, and he says the clock is slow."