[Pg 59] “Fine!” commented Patsy, with an inner satisfaction. “He may be foolish, but I bet he can tinker.” They picked berries for an hour or more, and then Patsy turned too and helped the woman get dinner. They bustled about in silence to the accompanying pounding and scraping of the tinker, who worked unceasingly. When they sat down to dinner at last there was a tableful—the woman and her husband, Patsy, the tinker, and the “hands,” and before them was spread the very best the farm could give. It was as if the woman wished to pay their free-will gift of service with her unstinted bounty. “We always ask a blessin’,” said the farmer, simply, folding his hands on the table, about to begin. Then he looked at Patsy, and, with that natural courtesy that is common to the true man of the soil, he added, “We’d be pleased if you’d ask it.” Patsy bowed her head. A little whimsical smile crept to her lips, but her voice rang deep with feeling: “For food and fellowship, good Lord, we thank Thee. Amen!” And she added under her [Pg 60]breath, “And take a good grip of the Rich Man’s son till we get him.” [Pg 60] The late afternoon found them back on the road once more. They parted from the farmer and his wife as friend parts with friend. The woman slipped a bundle of food—bread, cheese, and meat left from the dinner, with a box of berries—into Patsy’s hand, while the man gave the tinker a half-dollar and wished him luck. Patsy thanked them for both; but it was not until they were well out of earshot that she spoke to the tinker: “They are good folk, but they’d never understand in a thousand years how we came to be traveling along together. What folks don’t know can’t hurt them, and ’tis often easier holding your tongue than trying to explain what will never get through another’s brain. Now put that lunch into your kit; it may come in handy—who knows? And God’s blessing on all kind hearts!” Whereupon the tinker nodded solemnly. They had tramped for a mile or more when they came to a cross-roads marked by a little white church. From the moment they sighted it Patsy’s feet began to lag; and by the time they reached the crossing of the ways she had stopped altogether and was gazing up at the little gold cross with an odd expression of whimsical earnestness. [Pg 61] [Pg 61]
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