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 mother, when two gentlemen passed on
the opposite side of the way. Observing them, and seeing how Barnaby was
occupied, they stopped, whispered together for an instant, turned back,
and came over to them.
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