and able to fight a little, I squared as he came running in upon me, and had a round or two with him.  Lord bless you, young man, it was like a fly fighting with an elephant—­one of those big beasts the show-folks carry about.  I had not a chance with the fellow, he knocked me here, he knocked me there, knocked me into the hedge, and knocked me out again.  I was at my last shifts, and my poor wife saw it.  Now my poor wife, though she is as gentle as a pigeon, has yet a spirit of her own, and though she wasn’t bred upon the roads, can scratch a little; so when she saw me at my last shifts, she flew at the villain—­she couldn’t bear to see her partner murdered—­and scratched the villain’s face.  Lord bless you, young man, she had better have been quiet:  Grey Moll no sooner saw what she was about, than, springing out of the cart, where she had sat all along perfectly quiet, save a little whooping and screeching to encourage her blade:—­Grey Moll, I say (my flesh creeps when I think of it—­for I am a kind husband, and love my poor wife) . . .

Myself.  Take another draught of the ale; you look frightened, and it will do you good.  Stout liquor makes stout heart, as the man says in the play.

Tinker.  That’s true, young man; here’s to you—­where was I?  Grey Moll no sooner saw what my wife was about, than, springing out of the cart, she flew at my poor wife, clawed off her bonnet in a moment, and seized hold of her hair.  Lord bless you, young man, my poor wife, in the hands of Grey Moll, was nothing better than a pigeon in the claws of a buzzard hawk, or I in the hands of the Flaming Tinman, which when I saw, my heart was fit to burst, and I determined to give up everything—­everything to save my poor wife out of Grey Moll’s claws.  ‘Hold!’ I shouted.  ’Hold, both of you—­Jack, Moll.  Hold, both of you, for God’s sake, and I’ll do what you will:  give up trade, and business, connection, bread, and everything, never more travel the roads, and go down on my knees to you in the bargain.’  Well, this had some effect; Moll let go my wife, and the Blazing Tinman stopped for a moment; it was only for a moment, however, that he left off—­all of a sudden he hit me a blow which sent me against a tree; and what did the villain then? why the flying villain seized me by the throat, and almost throttled me, roaring—­what do you think, young man, that the flaming villain roared out?

Myself.  I really don’t know—­something horrible, I suppose.

Tinker.  Horrible, indeed; you may well say horrible, young man; neither more nor less than the Bible—­’A Bible, a Bible!’ roared the Blazing Tinman; and he pressed my throat so hard against the tree that my senses began to dwaul away—­a Bible, a Bible, still ringing in my ears.  Now, young man, my poor wife is a Christian woman, and, though she travels the roads, carries a Bible with her at the bottom of her sack, with which sometimes she teaches the children to read—­it