One day--for they moved slowly, and although they had many rides in
carts and waggons, were on the road a week--Barnaby, with Grip upon his
shoulder and his mother following, begged permission at a trim lodge to
go up to the great house, at the other end of the avenue, and show his
raven. The man within was inclined to give them admittance, and was
indeed about to do so, when a stout gentleman with a long whip in his
hand, and a flushed face which seemed to indicate that he had had his
morning's draught, rode up to the gate, and called in a loud voice and
with more oaths than the occasion seemed to warrant to have it opened
directly.
'Who hast thou got here?' said the gentleman angrily, as the man threw
the gate wide open, and pulled off his hat, 'who are these? Eh? art a
beggar, woman?'
The widow answered with a curtsey, that they were poor travellers.
'Vagrants,' said the gentleman, 'vagrants and vagabonds. Thee wish to be
made acquainted with the cage, dost thee--the cage, the stocks, and the
whipping-post? Where dost come from?'
She told him in a timid manner,--for he was very loud, hoarse, and
red-faced,--and besought him not to be angry, for they meant no harm,
and would go upon their way that moment.
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