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‘Yes； for good。 The truth is； widow； that his making a longer
stay there might have had disagreeable consequences。 He has
come away for that reason。’
‘Listen；’ said the widow； telling some money out； upon a bench
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beside them。 ‘Count。’
‘Six；’ said the blind man； listening attentively。 ‘Any more？’
‘They are the savings；’ she answered； ‘of five years。 Six
guineas。’
He put out his hand for one of the coins； felt it carefully； put it
between his teeth； rung it on the bench； and nodded to her to
proceed。
‘These have been scraped together and laid by； lest sickness or
death should separate my son and me。 They have been purchased
at the price of much hunger； hard labour； and want of rest。 If you
can take them—do—on condition that you leave this place upon
the instant； and enter no more into that room； where he sits now；
expecting your return。’
‘Six guineas；’ said the blind man； shaking his head； ‘though of
the fullest weight that were ever coined； fall very far short of
twenty pounds； widow。’
‘For such a sum； as you know； I must write to a distant part of
the country。 To do that； and receive an answer； I must have time。’
‘Two days？’ said Stagg。
‘More。’
‘Four days？’
‘A week。 Return on this day week； at the same hour； but not to
the house。 Wait at the corner of the lane。’
‘Of course；’ said the blind man； with a crafty look； ‘I shall find
you there？’
‘Where else can I take refuge？ Is it not enough that you have
made a beggar of me； and that I have sacrificed my whole store； so
hardly earned； to preserve this home？’
‘Humph！’ said the blind man； after some consideration。 ‘Set me
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with my face towards the point you speak of； and in the middle of
the road。 Is this the spot？’
‘It is。’
‘On this day week at sunset。 And think of him within doors。—
For the present； good night。’
She made him no answer； nor did he stop for any。 He went
slowly away； turning his head from time to time； and stopping to
listen； as if he were curious to know whether he was watched by
any one。 The shadows of night were closing fast around； and he
was soon lost in the gloom。 It was not； however； until she had
traversed the lane from end to end； and made sure that he was
gone； that she re…entered the cottage； and hurriedly barred the
door and window。
‘Mother！’ said Barnaby。 ‘What is the matter？ Where is the blind
man？’
‘He is gone。’
‘Gone！’ he cried； starting up。 ‘I must have more talk with him。
Which way did he take？’
‘I don’t know；’ she answered； folding her arms about him。 ‘You
must not go out to…night。 There are ghosts and dreams abroad。’
‘Ay？’ said Barnaby； in a frightened whisper。
‘It is not safe to stir。 We must leave this place to…morrow。’
‘This place！ This cottage—and the little garden； mother！’
‘Yes！ To…morrow morning at sunrise。 We must travel to
London； lose ourselves in that wide place—there would be some
trace of us in any other town—then travel on again； and find some
new abode。’
Little persuasion was required to reconcile Barnaby to
anything that promised change。 In another minute； he was wild
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with delight； in another； full of grief at the prospect of parting with
his friends the dogs； in another； wild again； then he was fearful of
what she had said to prevent his wandering abroad that night； and
full of terrors and strange questions。 His light…heartedness in the
end surmounted all his other feelings； and lying down in his
clothes to the end that he might be ready on the morrow； he soon
fell fast asleep before the poor turf fire。
His mother did not close her eyes； but sat beside him； watching。
Every breath of wind sounded in her ears like that dreaded
footstep at the door； or like that hand upon the latch； and made
the calm summer night； a night of horror。 At length the welcome
day appeared。 When she had made the little preparations which
were needful for their journey； and had prayed upon her knees
with many tears； she roused Barnaby； who jumped up gaily at her
summons。
His clothes were few enough； and to carry Grip was a labour of
love。 As the sun shed his earliest beams upon the earth； they
closed the door of their deserted home； and turned away。 The sky
was blue and bright。 The air was fresh and filled with a thousand
perfumes。 Barnaby looked upward； and laughed with all his heart。
But it was a day he usually devoted to a long ramble； and one of
the dogs—the ugliest of them all—came bounding up； and
jumping round him in the fulness of his joy。 He had to bid him go
back in a surly tone； and his heart smote him while he did so。 The
dog retreated； turned with a half…incredulous； half…imploring look；
came a little back； and stopped。
It was the last appeal of an old companion and a faithful
friend—cast off。 Barnaby could bear no more； and as he shook his
head and waved his playmate home； he burst into tears。
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‘Oh mother； mother； how mournful he will be when he
scratches at the door； and finds it always shut！’
There was such a sense of home in the thought； that though her
own eyes overflowed she would not have obliterated the
recollection of it； either from her own mind or from his； for the
wealth of the whole wide world。
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