The clock tinker was off in the snow paths every other week. Inmore than a hundred homes, scattered far along road lines of thegreat valley, he set the pace of the pendulums. Every winter themare was rented for easy driving and Darrel made his journeysafoot. Twice a day Trove passed the little shop, and if there werea chalk mark on the dial, he bounded upstairs to greet his friend.Sometimes he brought another boy into the rare atmosphere of theclock shop--one, mayhap, who needed some counsel of the wise oldman.
Spring had come again. Every day sowers walked the hills andvalleys around Hillsborough, their hands swinging with a godlikegesture that summoned the dead to rise; everywhere was the odour ofbroken field or garden. Night had come again, after a day of magicsunlight, and soon after eight o'clock Trove was at the door of thetinker with a schoolmate.
"How are you?" said Trove, as Darrel opened the door.
"Better for the sight o' you," said the old man, promptly. "EnterSidney Trove and another young gentleman."
The boys took the two chairs offered them in silence.
"Kind sor," the tinker added, turning to Trove, "thou hast thy cue;give us the lines."
"Pardon me," said the boy. "Mr. Darrel, my friend Richard Kent."
"Of the Academy?" said Darrel, as he held to the hand of Kent.
"Of the Academy," said Trove.
"An', I make no doubt, o' good hope," the tinker added. "Let mestop one o' the clocks--so I may not forget the hour o' meeting anew friend."
Darrel crossed the room and stopped a pendulum.
"He would like to join this night-school of ours," Trove answered.
"Would he?" said the tinker. "Well, it is one o' hard lessons.When ye come t' multiply love by experience, an' subtract vanityan' add peace, an' square the remainder, an' then divide by thenumber o' days in thy life--it is a pretty problem, an' the resultmay be much or little, an' ye reach it--"
He paused a moment, thoughtfully puffing the smoke.
"Not in this term o' school," he added impressively.
All were silent a little time.
"Where have you been?" Trove inquired presently.
"Home," said the old man.
There was a puzzled look on Trove's face.
"Home?" he repeated with a voice of inquiry.
"I have, sor," the clock tinker went on. "This poor shelter is notme home--it's only for a night now an' then. I've a grand housean' many servants an' a garden, sor, where there be flowers--lovelyflowers--an' sunlight an' noble music. Believe me, boy, 'tisenough to make one think o' heaven."
"I did not know of it," said Trove.
"Know ye not there is a country in easy reach of us, with fairfields an' proud cities an' many people an' all delights, boy, alldelights? There I hope thou shalt found a city thyself an' buildit well so nothing shall overthrow it--fire, nor flood, nor theslow siege o' years."
"Where?" Trove inquired eagerly.
"In the Blessed Isles, boy, in the Blessed Isles. Imagine theinfinite sea o' time that is behind us. Stand high an' look backover its dead level. King an' empire an' all their strivingmultitudes are sunk in the mighty deep. But thou shalt see risingout of it the Blessed Isles of imagination. Green--forever greenare they--and scattered far into the dim distance. Look! there isthe city o' Shakespeare--Norman towers and battlements and Gothicarches looming above the sea. Go there an' look at the people asthey come an' go. Mingle with them an' find goodcompany--merry-hearted folk a-plenty, an' God knows I love themerry-hearted! Talk with them, an' they will teach thee wisdom.Hard by is the Isle o' Milton, an' beyond are many--it would takethee years to visit them. Ah, sor, half me time I live in theBlessed Isles. What is thy affliction, boy?"
He turned to Kent--a boy whose hard luck was proverbial, and whoseleft arm was in a sling.
"Broke it wrestling," said the boy.
"Kent has bad luck," said Trove. "Last year he broke his leg."
"Obey the law, or thou shalt break the bone o' thy neck," saidDarrel, quickly.
"I do obey the law," said Trent.
"Ay--the written law," said the clock tinker, "an' small credit tothee. But the law o' thine own discovery,--the law that is forthyself an' no other,--hast thou ne'er thought of it? Ill luck isthe penalty o' law-breaking. Therefore study the law that is forthyself. Already I have discovered one for thee, an' it is, 'Ihave not limberness enough in me bones, so I must put them in nounnecessary peril.' Listen, I'll read thee me own code."
The clock tinker rose and got his Shakespeare, ragged from longuse, and read from a fly-leaf, his code of private law, to wit:--
"Walk at least four miles a day.
"Eat no pork and be at peace with thy liver.
"Measure thy words and cure a habit of exaggeration.
"Thine eyes are faulty--therefore, going up or down, look well tothy steps.
"Beware of ardent spirits, for the curse that is in thy blood. Itwill turn thy heart to stone.
"In giving, remember Darrel.
"Bandy no words with any man.
"Play at no game of chance.
"Think o' these things an' forget thyself."
"Now there is the law that is for me alone," Darrel continued,looking up at the boys. "Others may eat pork or taste the red cup,or dally with hazards an' suffer no great harm--not I. Goodyouths, remember, ill luck is for him only that is ignorant,neglectful, or defiant o' private law."
"But suppose your house fall upon you," Trove suggested.
"I speak not o' common perils," said the tinker. "Butenough--let's up with the sail. Heave ho! an' away for the BlessedIsles. Which shall it be?"
He turned to a rude shelf, whereon were books,--near a score,--someworn to rags.
"What if it be yon fair Isle o' Milton?" he inquired, lifting anold volume.
"Let's to the Isle o' Milton," Trove answered.
"Well, go to one o' the clocks there, an' set it back," said thetinker.
"How much?" Trove inquired with a puzzled look.
"Well, a matter o' two hundred years," said Darrel, who was nowturning the leaves. "List ye, boy, we're up to the shore an' hardby the city gates. How sweet the air o' this enchanted isle!
"'And west winds with musky wing Down the cedarn alleys fling Nard and cassia's balmy smells.'"
He quoted thoughtfully, turning the leaves. Then he read theshorter poems,--a score of them,--his voice sounding the noblemusic of the lines. It was revelation for those raw youths and ledthem high. They forgot the passing of the hours and till nearmidnight were as those gone to a strange country. And they longremembered that night with Darrel of the Blessed Isles.