The tinker, blacker and grimmer than ever, stared hard at the altered person of his old acquaintance, and extended his sable fingers, as if inclined to convince himself by the sense of touch, that it was Leonard in the flesh that he beheld, under vestments so marvellously elegant and preternaturally spruce.
Leonard shrank mechanically from the contact, while in great surprise he faltered—
"You here, Mr. Sprott! What could bring you so far from home?"
"'Ome!" echoed the tinker, "I 'as no 'ome! or rayther, d'ye see, Muster Fairfilt, I makes myself at 'ome verever I goes! Lor' love ye I ben't settled in no parridge. I vanders here and vanders there, and that's my 'ome verever I can mend my kettles, and sell my tracks!"
So saying, the tinker slid his panniers on the ground, gave a grunt of release and satisfaction, and seated himself with great composure on the stile, from which Leonard had retreated.
"But, dash my vig," resumed Mr. Sprott, as he once more surveyed Leonard, "vy, you bees a rale gentleman now, surely. Vot's the dodge—eh?"
"Dodge!" repeated Leonard mechanically—"I don't understand you." Then, thinking that it was neither necessary nor expedient to keep up his acquaintance with Mr. Sprott, nor prudent to expose himself to the battery of questions which he foresaw that further parley would bring upon him, he extended a crown-piece to the tinker; and saying with a half smile, "You must excuse me for leaving you—I have business in the town; and do me the favor to accept this trifle," he walked briskly off.
The tinker looked long at the crown-piece, and sliding it into his pocket, said to himself—
"Ho—'ush-money! No go, my swell cove."
After venting that brief soliloquy he sat silent a little while, till Leonard was nearly out of sight, then rose, resumed his fardle, and creeping quick along the hedgerows, followed Leonard towards the town. Just in the last field, as he looked over the hedge, he saw Leonard accosted by a gentleman of comely mien and important swagger. That gentleman soon left the young man, and came, whistling loud, up the path, and straight towards the tinker. Mr. Sprott looked round, but the hedge was too neat to allow of a hiding-place, so he put a bold front on, and stepped forth like a man. But, alas for him! before he got into the public path, the proprietor of the land, Mr. Richard Avenel, (for the gentleman was no less a personage) had spied out the trespasser, and called to him with a "Hillo, fellow," that spoke all the dignity of a man who owns acres, and all the wrath of a man who beholds those acres impudently invaded.