as declared he won't present it to the
house at all, unless it is attended to the door by forty thousand good
and true men at least? There's a crowd for you!'

'A crowd indeed!' said Barnaby. 'Do you hear that, mother!'

'And they're mustering yonder, as I am told,' resumed the old man, 'nigh
upon a hundred thousand strong. Ah! Let Lord George alone. He knows
his power. There'll be a good many faces inside them three windows over
there,' and he pointed to where the House of Commons overlooked the
river, 'that'll turn pale when good Lord George gets up this afternoon,
and with reason too! Ay, ay. Let his lordship alone. Let him alone.
HE knows!' And so, with much mumbling and chuckling and shaking of his
forefinger, he rose, with the assistance of his stick, and tottered off.

'Mother!' said Barnaby, 'that's a brave crowd he talks of. Come!'

'Not to join it!' cried his mother.

'Yes, yes,' he answered, plucking at her sleeve. 'Why not? Come!'

'You don't know,' she urged, 'what mischief they may do, where they may
lead you, what their meaning is. Dear Barnaby, for my sake--'

'For your sake!' he cried, patting her hand. 'Well! It IS for your sake,
mother. You remember what the blind man said, about the gold. Here's a
brave crowd! Come! Or wait till I come back--yes, yes, wait here.'

She tried with all the earnestness her fears engendered, to turn him
from his purpose, but in vain. He was stooping down to buckle on his
shoe, when a hackney-coach passed them rather quickly, and a voice
inside called to the driver to stop.

'Young man,' said a voice within.

'Who's that?' cried Barnaby, looking up.

'Do you wear this ornament?' returned the stranger, holding out a blue
cockade.

'In Heaven's name, no. Pray do not give it him!' exclaimed the widow.

'Speak for yourself, woman,' said the man within the coach, coldly.
'Leave the young man to his choice; he's old enough to make it, and
to snap your apron-strings. He knows, without your telling, whether he
wears the sign of a loyal Englishman or not.'

Barnaby, trembling with impatience, cried, 'Yes! yes, yes, I do,' as
he had cried a dozen times already. The man threw him a cockade, and
crying, 'Make haste to St George's Fields,' ordered the coachman to
drive on fast; and left them.

With hands that trembled with his eagerness to fix the bauble in his
hat, Barnaby was adjusting it as he best could, and hurriedly replying
to the tears and entreaties of his mot