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"But you see, father--"

"That hy me an' Natty Bell took you in hand--learned you all

we knowed o' the galand as knows so much about the Noble Art as me an' Natty Bell"

"But father--"

"If you 'd only followed your nat'ral gifts, Barnabas, I say you

land to-day, wi' Markisses an' Lords

an' Earls proud to shake your hand--if you'd only been ruled by

Natty Bell an' me, I'm disappointed in ye, Barnabas--an' so's Natty

Bell"

"I'm sorry, father--but as I told you--"

"Still Barnabas, what ain't to be, ain't--an' what is, is Soift for the ga out o' books an'

a-cyphering into books--like you: though a reader an' a writer

generally has a hard time on it an' dies poor--which, arter all, is

only nat'ral--an' there y' are!"

Here John Barty paused to take up the tankard of ale at his elbow,

and pursed up his lips to blow off the foa his son about to speak, he immediately set down the ale

untasted and continued: "Not as I quarrels wi' your reading and writing, Barnabas, no, and

because why? Because reading and writing is apt to be useful now an'

then, and because it were a promise--as I made--to--your mother

When--your mother were alive, Barnabas, she used to keep all my

accounts for me She likewise larned me to spell my own name wi' a

capital G for John, an' a capital B for Barty, an' when she died,