Even in that drowsy, semi-conscious state, that most delightful

borderland which lies midway between sleeping and waking, I knew

it could not be the woodpecker who, as I judged from sundry

manifest signs, lodged in the tree above me. No woodpecker that

ever pecked could originate such sounds as these--two quick,

light strokes, followed by another, and heavier, thus: Tap,

tap--TAP; a pause, and then, tap, tap--TAP again, and so on.

Whatever doubts I may have yet harbored on the subject, however,

were presently dispelled by a fragrance sweeter, to the nostrils

of a hungry man, than the breath of flowers, the spices of the

East, or all the vaunted perfumes of Arabia--in a word, the odor

of frying bacon.

Hereupon, I suddenly realized how exceedingly keen was my

appetite, and sighed, bethinking me that I must first find a

tavern before I could satisfy my craving, when a voice reached me

from no great distance, a full, rich, sonorous voice, singing a

song. And the words of the song were these:

"A tinker I am, O a tinker am I,

A tinker I'll live, and a tinker I'll die;

If the King in his crown would change places wi' me

I'd laugh so I would, and I'd say unto he:

'A tinker I am, O a tinker am I.

A tinker I'll live, and a tinker I'll die.'"

It was a quaint air, with a shake at the end of the first two and

last two lines, which, altogether, I thought very pleasing. I

advanced, guided by the voice, until I came out into a grassy

lane. Seated upon an artfully-contrived folding stool, was a

man. He was a very small man despite his great voice, who held a

kettle between his knees, and a light hammer in his hand, while a

little to one side of him there blazed a crackling fire of twigs

upon which a hissing frying-pan was balanced. But what chiefly

drew and held my attention was the man's face; narrow and peaked,

with little, round, twinkling eyes set deep in his head, close

black hair, grizzled at the temples, and a long, blue chin.

And presently, as I stood staring at him, he finished his song,

and chancing to raise his eyes stared back at me.

"Good morning!" said he at last, with a bright nod.

"So then you didn't cut your throat in the Hollow Oak, after

all?" said I.

"Nor likely to either, master," he answered, shaking his head.

"Lord love your eyes and limbs, no!"

"But," said I, "some day or so ago I met a man--"




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