rnaby. "Do you hear that, mother? That's a
brave crowd he talks of. Come!"

"Not to join it!" cried his mother. "You don't know what mischief they
may do, or where they may lead you. Dear Barnaby, for my sake----"

"For your sake!" he answered. "It _is_ for your sake, mother. Here's a
brave crowd! Come--or wait till I come back! Yes, yes, wait here!"

A stranger gave Barnaby a blue cockade and bade him wear it, and while
he was still fixing it in his hat Lord Gordon and his secretary,
Gashford, passed, and then turned back.

"You lag behind, friend, and are late," said Lord George. "It's past ten
now. Didn't you know the hour of assemblage was ten o'clock?"

Barnaby shook his head, and looked vacantly from one to the other.

"He cannot tell you, sir," the widow interposed. "It's no use to ask
him. We know nothing of these matters. This is my son--my poor,
afflicted son, dearer to me than my own life. He is not in his right
senses--he is not, indeed."

"He has surely no appearance," said Lord George, whispering in his
secretary's ear, "of being deranged. We must not construe any trifling
peculiarity into madness. You desire to make one of this body?" he
added, addressing Barnaby. "And intended to make one, did you?"

"Yes, yes," said Barnaby, with sparkling eyes. "To be sure, I did. I
told her so myself."

"Then follow me." replied Lord George, "and you shall have your wish."

Barnaby kissed his mother tenderly, and telling her their fortunes were
made now, did as he was desired.

They hastened on to St. George's Fields, where the vast army of men was
drawn up in sections. Doubtless there were honest zealots sprinkled here
and there, but for the most part the throng was composed of the very
scum and refuse of London.

Barnaby was acclaimed by a man in the ranks, Hugh, the rough hostler of
the Maypole, whom Barnaby in his frequent wanderings had long known.

"What! you wear the colour, do you? Fall in, Barnaby. You shall march
between me and Dennis, and you shall carry," said Hugh, taking a flag
from the hand of a tired man, "the gayest silken streamer in this
valiant army."

"In the name of God, no!" shrieked the widow, who had followed in
pursuit and now darted forward. "Barnaby, my lord, he'll come
back--Barnaby!"

"Women in the field!" cried Hugh, stepping between them, and holding her
off with his outstretched hand. "It's against all orders--ladies
carrying off our gallant soldiers from their duty.