n these
parts.'

With these words he groped his way to the door, carrying his chair with
him. Then seating himself, under a spreading honeysuckle, and stretching
his legs across the threshold so that no person could pass in or out
without his knowledge, he took from his pocket a pipe, flint, steel and
tinder-box, and began to smoke. It was a lovely evening, of that gentle
kind, and at that time of year, when the twilight is most beautiful.
Pausing now and then to let his smoke curl slowly off, and to sniff the
grateful fragrance of the flowers, he sat there at his ease--as though
the cottage were his proper dwelling, and he had held undisputed
possession of it all his life--waiting for the widow's answer and for
Barnaby's return.

Chapter 46

When Barnaby returned with the bread, the sight of the pious old pilgrim
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 and precious article,
tossed it carelessly on the table, and producing his bottle, bade him
sit down and drink.

'For I carry some comfort, you see,' he said. 'Taste that. Is it good?'

The water stood in Barnaby's eyes as he coughed from the strength of 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 came
to-night, when all that gold was in the sky,' said Barnaby, drawing his
chair nearer to him, and looking eagerly in his face. 'Tell me. 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 of triumph, to
where the widow stood in great distress; and answered,

'Why, they are not to be found out by stay-at-homes, my good friend.'

'By stay-at-homes!' cried Barnaby, plucking at his sleeve. 'But I am not
one. Now, there you mistake. I am often out before the sun, and travel
home when he has gone to rest. I am away in the woods before the day
has