The Broad Highway

The Tinker slowly wiped his clasp-knife upon the leg of his

breeches, closed it, and slipped it into his pocket.

"Nevertheless," said he at last, "I am convinced that you are a

very strange young man."

"Be that as it may," said I, "the bacon was delicious. I have

never enjoyed a meal so much--except once at an inn called 'The

Old Cock.'"

"I know it," nodded the Tinker; "a very poor house."

"But the ham and eggs are beyond praise," said I; "still, my meal

here under the trees with you will long remain a pleasant

memory."

"Good-by, then," said the Tinker. "Good-by, young man, and I

wish you happiness."

"What is happiness?" said I. The Tinker removed his hat, and,

having scratched his head, put it on again.

"Happiness," said he, "happiness is the state of being content

with one's self, the world, and everything in general."

"Then," said I, "I fear I can never be happy."

"And why not?"

"Because, supposing I ever became contented with the world, and

everything in general, which is highly improbable, I shall never,

never be contented with myself."