He goes
on before, and I follow. He's the master, and I'm the man. Is that the
truth, Grip?'
The raven gave a short, comfortable, confidential kind of croak;--a most
expressive croak, which seemed to say, 'You needn't let these fellows
into our secrets. We understand each other. It's all right.'
'I make HIM come?' cried Barnaby, pointing to the bird. 'Him, who never
goes to sleep, or so much as winks!--Why, any time of night, you may see
his eyes in my dark room, shining like two sparks. And every night, and
all night too, he's broad awake, talking to himself, thinking what he
shall do to-morrow, where we shall go, and what he shall steal, and
hide, and bury. I make HIM come! Ha ha ha!'
On second thoughts, the bird appeared disposed to come of himself. After
a short survey of the ground, and a few sidelong looks at the ceiling
and at everybody present in turn, he fluttered to the floor, and went
to Barnaby--not in a hop, or walk, or run, but in a pace like that of
a very particular gentleman with exceedingly tight boots on, trying to
walk fast over loose pebbles. Then, stepping into his extended hand,
and condescending to be held out at arm's length, he gave vent to a
succession of sounds, not unlike the drawing of some eight or ten dozen
of long corks, and again asserted his brimstone birth and parentage with
great distinctness.
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