"Why is your uncle not with you?"
"He was obliged to go to town, miss--that is, to a town at some distance
from here on business."
"Why, what business can a tinker have?" inquired Araminta.
"I suppose he wanted some soft solder, miss; he requires a great deal."
"Can you read and write, boy?" inquired Melissa.
"Me, miss! how should I know how to write and read?" replied Joey,
looking up.
"Have you been much about here?"
"Yes, miss, a good deal; uncle seems to like this part; we never were so
long before. The scissors are done now, miss, and they will cut very
well. Uncle was in hopes of getting some work at the mansion-house when
he came back."
"Can your uncle write and read?"
"I believe he can a little, miss."
"What do I owe you for the scissors?"
"Nothing, miss, if you please; I had rather not take anything from you."
"And why not from me?"
"Because I never worked for so pretty a lady before. Wish you good
morning, ladies," said Joey, taking up his wheel and rolling it away.
"Well, Araminta, what do you think now? That's no knife-grinder's boy;
he is as well-bred and polite as any lad I ever saw."
"I suspect that he is a little story-teller, saying that he could not
write and read," Araminta replied. "And so do I; what made him in such
a hurry to go away?"
"I suppose he did not like our questions. I wonder whether the uncle
will come. Well, Melissa, I must not quit your father just now, so I
must leave you with your book," and, so saying, Araminta took her way to
the house.
Miss Mathews was in a reverie for some minutes; Joey's behaviour had
puzzled her almost as much as what she had overheard the day before. At
last she opened the book, and, to her great astonishment, beheld the
letter. She started--looked at it--it was addressed to her. She
demurred at first whether she should open it. It must have been put
there by the tinker's boy--it was evidently no tinker's letter; it must
be a love-letter, and she ought not to read it. There was something,
however, so very charming in the whole romance of the affair, if it
should turn out, as she suspected, that the tinker should prove a
gentleman who had fallen in love with her, and had assumed the disguise.
Melissa wanted an excuse to herself for opening the letter. At last
she said to herself, "Who knows but what it may be a petition from some
poor person or other who is in distress? I ought to read it, at all
events."
Had it proved to be a petition, Miss Melissa would have been terribly
disappointed. "It certainly is very respectful," thought Melissa, after
she had read it, "but I cannot reply to it; that would never do. There
certainly is nothing I can take offence at. It must be the tinker
himself, I am sure of that: but still he does not say so. Well, I don't
know, but I feel very anxious as to what this will come to. O, it can
come to nothing, for I cannot love a man I have never seen, and I would
not admit a stranger to an interview; that's quite decided. I must show
the letter to Araminta. Shall I? I don't know, she's so particular, so
steady, and would be talking of propriety and prudence; it would vex her
so, and put her quite in a fever, she would be so unhappy; no, it would
be cruel to say anything to her, she would fret so about it; I won't
tell her, until I think it absolutely necessary. It is a very
gentleman-like hand, and elegant language too; but still I'm not going
to carry on a secret correspondence with a tinker. It must be the
tinker. What an odd thing altogether! What can his name be? An old
family quarrel, too. Why, it's a Romeo and Juliet affair, only Romeo's
a tinker. Well, one mask is as good as another. He acknowledges
himself poor, I like that of him, there's something so honest in it.
Well, after all, it will be a little amusement to a poor girl like me,
shut up from year's end to year's end, with opodeldocs always in my
nose; so I will see what the end of it may be," thought Melissa, rising
from her seat to go into the house, and putting the letter into her
pocket.
Joey went back to Spikeman and reported progress.
"That's all I wish, Joey," said Spikeman; "now you must not go there
to-morrow; we must let it work a little; if she is at all interested in
the letter, she will be impatient to know more."
Spikeman was right. Melissa looked up and down the road very often
during the next day, and was rather silent during the evening. The
second day after, Joey, having received his instructions, set off, with
his knife-grinder's wheel, for the mansion-house. When he went round
the copse where the bench was, he found Miss Mathews there.
"I beg your pardon, miss, but do you think there is any work at the
house?"
"Come here, sir," said Melissa, assuming a very dignified air.
"Yes, miss," said Joey, walking slowly to her.
"Now, tell me the truth, and I will reward you with half-a-crown."
"Yes, miss."
"Did you not put this letter in my book the day before yesterday?"
"Letter, miss! what letter?"
"Don't you deny it, for you know you did; and if you don't tell me the
truth, my father is a magistrate, and I'll have you punished."
"I was told not to tell," replied Joey, pretending to be frightened.
"But you must tell; yes, and tell me immediately."
"I hope you are not angry, miss."
"No, not if you tell the truth."
"I don't exactly know, miss, but a gentleman--"
"What gentleman?"
"A gentleman that came to uncle, miss."
"A gentleman that came to your uncle; well, go on."
"I suppose he wrote the letter, but I'm not sure; and uncle gave me the
letter to put it where you might see it."
"Oh, then, a gentleman, you say, gave your uncle this letter, and your
uncle gave it to you to bring to me. Is that it?"
"Uncle gave me the letter, but I dare say uncle will tell you all about
it, and who the gentleman was."
"Is your uncle come back?"
"He comes back to-night, madam."
"You're sure your uncle did not write the letter?"
"La, miss! uncle write such a letter as that--and to a lady like you--
that would be odd."
"Very odd, indeed!" replied Miss Melissa, who remained a minute or two
in thought. "Well, my lad," said she at last, "I must and will know who
has had the boldness to write this letter to me; and as your uncle
knows, you will bring him here to-morrow, that I may inquire about it;
and let him take care that he tells the truth."
"Yes, miss; I will tell him as soon as he comes home. I hope you are
not angry with me, miss; I did not think there was any harm in putting
into the book such a nice clean letter as that."
"No, I am not angry with you; your uncle is more to blame; I shall
expect him to-morrow about this time. You may go now."