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"For which I can never be sufficiently grateful, both to her--and to

you!" said Barnabas, who sat with his chin propped upon his hand,

gazing through the open lattice to where the broad white road wound

away betwixt bloo ever narrower till it vanished

over the brow of a distant hill "Not as I holds wi' eddication

myself, Barnabas, as you know," pursued his father, "but that's why

you was sent to school, that's why me an' Natty Bell sat by quiet

an' watched ye at your books So your back over your reading, or cra your fist

round a pen, Barnabas, why--I've took it hard, Barnabas, hard,

I'll not deny--But Natty Bell has minded me as it was her wish and

so--why--there y' are"

It was seldom his father mentioned to Barnabas the mother whose face

he had never seen, upon which rare occasions John Barty's deep voice

ont to take on a hoarser note, and his blue eyes, that were

usually so steady, would go wandering off until they fixed the back in his elbow

chair, gazing in rapt attention at the bell-mouthed blunderbuss

above the mantel, while his son, chin on fist, stared always and

ever to where the road dipped, and vanished over the hill--leading

on and on to London, and the great world beyond

"She died, Barnabas--just twenty-one years ago--buried at Maidstone