"My soul!" exclaimed the Tinker. "Fortune ain't in the habit o' showering brand-noo silver watches about me like this an' it's apt to ketch me unprepared with words to soot the occasion—"
"True, brother, when Peregrine stuck mine into my fist it was like a roaster in the short ribs, low, brother, low—I was floored, taken aback, an' nat'rally broached to an' come to a dead halt—"
"Wicked extravagance, I call it!" exclaimed Diana, glancing up from the potatoes she was peeling. "Though if he wants to waste his money, he couldn't ha' wasted it better!"
"For that," said I, seating myself beside her, "I will help you with those things if you'll show me how!" At this she glanced swiftly at me without lifting her head and in her eyes was an indescribable kindliness and her vivid lips were curved to smile so tender that I stared in joyful bewilderment and forgot all else in the world until roused by the Tinker's voice:
"And exactly what o'clock might it be by your chronometer, Jessamy?"
"Precisely fifteen minutes an' three quarters past seven, brother."
"Then, according to mine, you're precisely three quarters of a minute fast, Jessamy, my lad."
"Why, as to that, friend," answered Jessamy, "it's in my mind that you're just about that much slow, comrade."
And so, reaching a knife, I began to help Diana in the peeling of potatoes and, though finding it a somewhat trying business, yet contrived ever and anon to steal surreptitious glances at her downbent face and to surprise more than once that new soft and shy-sweet wonder in her glance.
"You'll cut yourself if you aren't more careful!" she admonished, and the kindness it seemed had somehow got into her voice.