When Barnaby returned with the bread, the sight of the pious oldpilgrim 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 andprecious article, tossed it carelessly on the table, and producinghis bottle, bade him sit down and drink.
"For I carry some comfort, you see," he said. "Taste that. Is itgood?"
The water stood in Barnaby"s eyes as he coughed from the strengthof 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 cameto-night, when all that gold was in the sky," said Barnaby, drawinghis chair nearer to him, and looking eagerly in his face. "Tellme. Is there any way of being rich, that I could find out?"
"Any way! A hundred ways."
"Ay, ay?" he returned. "Do you say so? What are they?--Nay,mother, it"s for your sake I ask; not mine;--for yours, indeed.
What are they?"
The blind man turned his face, on which there was a smile oftriumph, to where the widow stood in great distress; and answered,"Why, they are not to be found out by stay-at-homes, my goodfriend."
"By stay-at-homes!" cried Barnaby, plucking at his sleeve. "But Iam not one. Now, there you mistake. I am often out before thesun, and travel home when he has gone to rest. I am away in thewoods before the day has reached the shady places, and am oftenthere when the bright moon is peeping through the boughs, and looking down upon the other moon that lives in the water. As Iwalk along, I try to find, among the grass and moss, some of thatsmall money for which she works so hard and used to shed so manytears. As I lie asleep in the shade, I dream of it--dream ofdigging it up in heaps; and spying it out, hidden under bushes; andseeing it sparkle, as the dew-drops do, among the leaves. But Inever find it. Tell me where it is. I"d go there, if the journeywere a whole year long, because I know she would be happier when Icame home and brought some with me. Speak again. I"ll listen toyou if you talk all night."
The blind man passed his hand lightly over the poor fellow"s face,and finding that his elbows were planted on the table, that hischin rested on his two hands, that he leaned eagerly forward, andthat his whole manner expressed the utmost interest and anxiety,paused for a minute as though he desired the widow to observe thisfully, and then made answer:
"It"s in the world, bold Barnaby, the merry world; not in solitaryplaces like those you pass your time in, but in crowds, and wherethere"s noise and rattle."
"Good! good!" cried Barnaby, rubbing his hands. "Yes! I love that. Grip loves it too. It suits us both. That"s brave!"
"--The kind of places," said the blind man, "that a young fellowlikes, and in which a good son may do more for his mother, andhimself to boot, in a month, than he could here in all his life-thatis, if he had a friend, you know, and some one to advisewith."
"You hear this, mother?" cried Barnaby, turning to her withdelight. "Never tell me we shouldn"t heed it, if it lay shiningat out feet. Why do we heed it so much now? Why do you toil frommorning until night?"
"Surely," said the blind man, "surely. Have you no answer, widow?
Is your mind," he slowly added, "not made up yet?"
"Let me speak with you," she answered, "apart."
"Lay your hand upon my sleeve," said Stagg, arising from the table;"and lead me where you will. Courage, bold Barnaby. We"ll talkmore of this: I"ve a fancy for you. Wait there till I come back.
Now, widow."
She led him out at the door, and into the little garden, where theystopped.
"You are a fit agent," she said, in a half breathless manner, "andwell represent the man who sent you here."
"I"ll tell him that you said so," Stagg retorted. "He has a regardfor you, and will respect me the more (if possible) for yourpraise. We must have our rights, widow."
"Rights! Do you know," she said, "that a word from me--"
"Why do you stop?" returned the blind man calmly, after a longpause. "Do I know that a word from you would place my friend inthe last position of the dance of life? Yes, I do. What of that?
It will never be spoken, widow."
"You are sure of that?"
"Quite--so sure, that I don"t come here to discuss the question. Isay we must have our rights, or we must be bought off. Keep tothat point, or let me return to my young friend, for I have aninterest in the lad, and desire to put him in the way of making his fortune. Bah! you needn"t speak," he added hastily; "I know whatyou would say: you have hinted at it once already. Have I nofeeling for you, because I am blind? No, I have not. Why do youexpect me, being in darkness, to be better than men who have theirsight--why should you? Is the hand of Heaven more manifest in myhaving no eyes, than in your having two? It"s the cant of youfolks to be horrified if a blind man robs, or lies, or steals; ohyes, it"s far worse in him, who can barely live on the fewhalfpence that are thrown to him in streets, than in you, who cansee, and work, and are not dependent on the mercies of the world.