into his hand.
He has not counted it; but when they have gone a few paces beyond the
box for poor Prisoners, he hastily returns and drops it in.

Mr Garland has a coach waiting in a neighbouring street, and, taking
Kit inside with him, bids the man drive home. At first, they can only
travel at a foot pace, and then with torches going on before, because
of the heavy fog. But, as they get farther from the river, and leave
the closer portions of the town behind, they are able to dispense with
this precaution and to proceed at a brisker rate. On the road, hard
galloping would be too slow for Kit; but, when they are drawing near
their journey's end, he begs they may go more slowly, and, when the
house appears in sight, that they may stop--only for a minute or two,
to give him time to breathe.

But there is no stopping then, for the old gentleman speaks stoutly to
him, the horses mend their pace, and they are already at the
garden-gate. Next minute, they are at the door. There is a noise of
tongues, and tread of feet, inside. It opens. Kit rushes in, and
finds his mother clinging round his neck.

And there, too, is the ever faithful Barbara's mother, still holding
the baby as if she had never put it down since that sad day when they
little hoped to have such joy as this--there she is, Heaven bless her,
crying her eyes out, and sobbing as never woman sobbed before; and
there is little Barbara--poor little Barbara, so much thinner and so
much paler, and yet so very pretty--trembling like a leaf and
supporting herself against the wall; and there is Mrs Garland, neater
and nicer than ever, fainting away stone dead with nobody to help her;
and there is Mr Abel, violently blowing his nose, and wanting to
embrace everybody; and there is the single gentleman hovering round
them all, and constant to nothing for an instant; and there is that
good, dear, thoughtful little Jacob, sitting all alone by himself on
the bottom stair, with his hands on his knees like an old man, roaring
fearfully without giving any trouble to anybody; and each and all of
them are for the time clean out of their wits, and do jointly and
severally commit all manner of follies.

And even when the rest have in some measure come to themselves again,
and can find words and smiles, Barbara--that soft-hearted, gentle,
foolish little Barbara--is suddenly missed, and found to be in a swoon
by herself in the back parlour, from which swoon she falls into
hyste