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much delighted）； killing a fowl or two occasionally； and swallowing
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the dinners of various neighbouring dogs； of whom the boldest
held him in great awe and dread。
Time had glided on in this way； and nothing had happened to
disturb or change their mode of life； when； one summer’s night in
June； they were in their little garden； resting from the labours of
the day。 The widow’s work was yet upon her knee； and strewn
upon the ground about her； and Barnaby stood leaning on his
spade； gazing at the brightness in the west； and singing softly to
himself。
‘A brave evening； mother！ If we had； chinking in our pockets；
but a few specks of that gold which is piled up yonder in the sky；
we should be rich for life。’
‘We are better as we are；’ returned the widow with a quiet
smile。 ‘Let us be contented； and we do not want and need not care
to have it； though it lay shining at our feet。’
‘Ay！’ said Barnaby； resting with crossed arms on his spade； and
looking wistfully at the sunset； that’s well enough； mother； but
gold’s a good thing to have。 I wish that I knew where to find it。
Grip and I could do much with gold； be sure of that。’
‘What would you do？’ she asked。
‘What！ A world of things。 We’d dress finely—you and I； I mean；
not Grip—keep horses； dogs； wear bright colours and feathers； do
no more work； live delicately and at our ease。 Oh； we’d find uses
for it； mother； and uses that would do us good。 I would I knew
where gold was buried。 How hard I’d work to dig it up！’
‘You do not know；’ said his mother； rising from her seat and
laying her hand upon his shoulder； ‘what men have done to win it；
and how they have found； too late； that it glitters brightest at a
distance； and turns quite dim and dull when handled。’
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‘Ay； ay； so you say； so you think；’ he answered； still looking
eagerly in the same direction。 ‘For all that； mother； I should like to
try。’
‘Do you not see；’ she said； ‘how red it is？ Nothing bears so many
stains of blood； as gold。 Avoid it。 None have such cause to hate its
name as we have。 Do not so much as think of it； dear love。 It has
brought such misery and suffering on your head and mine as few
have known； and God grant few may have to undergo。 I would
rather we were dead and laid down in our graves； than you should
ever come to love it。’
For a moment Barnaby withdrew his eyes and looked at her
with wonder。 Then； glancing from the redness in the sky to the
mark upon his wrist as if he would compare the two； he seemed
about to question her with earnestness； when a new object caught
his wandering attention； and made him quite forgetful of his
purpose。
This was a man with dusty feet and garments； who stood； bare…
headed； behind the hedge that divided their patch of garden from
the pathway； and leant meekly forward as if he sought to mingle
with their conversation； and waited for his time to speak。 His face
was turned towards the brightness； too； but the light that fell upon
it showed that he was blind； and saw it not。
‘A blessing on those voices！’ said the wayfarer。 ‘I feel the beauty
of the night more keenly； when I hear them。 They are like eyes to
me。 Will they speak again； and cheer the heart of a poor traveller？’
‘Have you no guide？’ asked the widow； after a moment’s pause。
‘None but that；’ he answered； pointing with his staff towards
the sun； ‘and sometimes a milder one at night； but she is idle now。’
‘Have you travelled far？’
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‘A weary way and long；’ rejoined the traveller as he shook his
head。 ‘A weary； weary； way。 I struck my stick just now upon the
bucket of your well—be pleased to let me have a draught of water；
lady。’
‘Why do you call me lady？’ she returned。 ‘I am as poor as you。’
‘Your speech is soft and gentle； and I judge by that；’ replied the
man。 ‘The coarsest stuffs and finest silks； are—apart from the
sense of touch—alike to me。 I cannot judge you by your dress。’
‘Come round this way；’ said Barnaby； who had passed out at the
garden…gate and now stood close beside him。 ‘Put your hand in
mine。 You’re blind and always in the dark； eh？ Are you frightened
in the dark？ Do you see great crowds of faces； now？ Do they grin
and chatter？’
‘Alas！’ returned the other； ‘I see nothing。 Waking or sleeping；
nothing。’
Barnaby looked curiously at his eyes； and touching them with
his fingers； as an inquisitive child might； led him towards the
house。
‘You have come a long distance； ‘said the widow； meeting him
at the door。 ‘How have you found your way so far？’
‘Use and necessity are good teachers； as I have heard—the best
of any；’ said the blind man； sitting down upon the chair to which
Barnaby had led him； and putting his hat and stick upon the red…
tiled floor。 ‘May neither you nor your son ever learn under them。
They are rough masters。’
‘You have wandered from the road； too；’ said the widow； in a
tone of pity。
‘Maybe； maybe；’ returned the blind man with a sigh； and yet
with something of a smile upon his face； ‘that’s likely。 Handposts
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and milestones are dumb； indeed； to me。 Thank you the more for
this rest； and this refreshing drink！’
As he spoke； he raised the mug of water to his mouth。 It was
clear； and cold； and sparkling； but not to his taste nevertheless； or
his thirst was not very great； for he only wetted his lips and put it
down again。
He wore； hanging with a long strap round his neck； a kind of