Across the river lived a tinker…

…A jack-of-all-trades, he called himself: mender, patcher, scissors-grinder, junk collector, doo-dadder, fudge-about, and many other things besides. He could do anything somehow, but nothing perfect, and never the same way twice.

One look at the tinker and you could tell what sort of fellow he was. He kept his pants up with a rope. His trousers were wrinkled and spattered, and moths flew around his old battered hat.



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