"Are you hungry?" he inquired suddenly, glancing up at me with his hammer poised.
"Very hungry!" said I. Hereupon he set down his hammer, and, turning to a pack at his side, proceeded to extract therefrom a loaf of bread, a small tin of butter, and a piece of bacon, from which last he cut sundry slices with the jack-knife. He now lifted the hissing rashers from the pan to a tin plate, which he set upon the grass at my feet, together with the bread and the butter; and, having produced a somewhat battered knife and fork, handed them to me with another bright nod.
"You are very kind!" said I.
"Why, I'm a man as is fond o' company, y' see—especially of one who can think, and talk, and you have the face of both. I am—as you might say—a literary cove, being fond o' books, nov-els, and such like." And in a little while, the bacon being done to his liking, we sat down together, and began to eat.
"That was a strange song of yours," said I, after a while.
"Did you like it?" he inquired, with a quick tilt of his head.
"Both words and tune," I answered.
"I made the words myself," said the Tinker.
"And do you mean it?"
"Mean what?" asked the Tinker.