"Thou'rt made for the hot leagues o' the great sand sea," said he,
patting her head. "Ah! thy neck shall be as the bowsprit; thy dust
as the flying spray."

"In one thing you are like Isaiah," said Allen, as he whittled.
"The Lord God hath given thee the tongue of the learned."

"An' if he grant me the power to speak a word in season to him that
is weary, I shall be content," said the tinker.

Dinner over, they came out of doors. The stranger stood filling
his pipe. Something in his talk and manner had gone deep into the
soul of the boy, who now whispered a moment with his father.

"Would you sell the filly?" said Allen. "My boy would like to own
her."

"What, ho, the boy! the beautiful boy! An' would ye love her,
boy?" the tinker asked.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered quickly,

"An' put a ribbon in her forelock, an' a coat o' silk on her back,
an', mind ye, a man o' kindness in the saddle?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then take thy horse, an' Allah grant thou be successful on her as
many times as there be hairs in her skin."