He laid a great stress on these latter words, and
paused as if to find out what effect they had produced.
She only answered by her tears.
‘He is a likely lad,’ said the blind man,
thoughtfully, ’for many purposes, and not ill-disposed
to try his fortune in a little change and bustle,
if I may judge from what I heard of his talk with you
to-night.—Come. In a word, my friend
has pressing necessity for twenty pounds. You,
who can give up an annuity, can get that sum for him.
It’s a pity you should be troubled. You
seem very comfortable here, and it’s worth that
much to remain so. Twenty pounds, widow, is a
moderate demand. You know where to apply for it;
a post will bring it you.—Twenty pounds!’
She was about to answer him again, but again he stopped
her.
’Don’t say anything hastily; you might
be sorry for it. Think of it a little while.
Twenty pounds—of other people’s money—how
easy! Turn it over in your mind. I’m
in no hurry. Night’s coming on, and if I
don’t sleep here, I shall not go far. Twenty
pounds! Consider of it, ma’am, for twenty
minutes; give each pound a minute; that’s a fair
allowance. I’ll enjoy the air the while,
which is very mild and pleasant in these parts.’
With these words he groped his way to the door, carrying
his chair with him. Then seating himself, under
a spreading honeysuckle, and stretching his legs across
the threshold so that no person could pass in or out
without his knowledge, he took from his pocket a pipe,
flint, steel and tinder-box, and began to smoke.
It was a lovely evening, of that gentle kind, and
at that time of year, when the twilight is most beautiful.
Pausing now and then to let his smoke curl slowly off,
and to sniff the grateful fragrance of the flowers,
he sat there at his ease—as though the
cottage were his proper dwelling, and he had held undisputed
possession of it all his life—waiting for
the widow’s answer and for Barnaby’s return.
When Barnaby returned with the bread, the sight of
the pious old pilgrim smoking his pipe and making
himself so thoroughly at home, appeared to surprise
even him; the more so, as that worthy person, instead
of putting up the loaf in his wallet as a scarce and
precious article, tossed it carelessly on the table,
and producing his bottle, bade him sit down and drink.
‘For I carry some comfort, you see,’ he
said. ‘Taste that. Is it good?’
The water stood in Barnaby’s eyes as he coughed
from the strength of the draught, and answered in
the affirmative.
‘Drink some more,’ said the blind man;
’don’t be afraid of it. You don’t
taste anything like that, often, eh?’
‘Often!’ cried Barnaby. ‘Never!’
‘Too poor?’ returned the blind man with
a sigh. ’Ay. That’s bad.
Your mother, poor soul, would be happier if she was
richer, Barnaby.’
’Why, so I tell her—the very thing
I told her just before you came to-night, when all
that gold was in the sky,’ said Barnaby, drawing
his chair nearer to him, and looking eagerly in his
face. ’Tell me. Is there any way of
being rich, that I could find out?’
