BA.RNABY RUDGE.
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iccordinorly went out as they had come, by the private stiiir and ^'anlcn afate; seeing and being seen of no one by the way.
It was remarkable in the raven, that during the whole interview he had kept his eye on his book with exactly the air of a very sly human rascal, who, under the mask of pretending to read hard, was lis- tening to everything. He still appeared to have the conversation very strongly in his mind, for although, when they were alone again, he issued orders for the instant preparation of innumerable kettles for pur- poses of tea, he was tlioughtful, and rather seemed to do so from an abstract sense of duty, than with any regard to making him- self agreeable, or being what is commonly called good company.
They were to return by the coach. As there was an interval of full two hours be- fore it started, and they needed rest and some refreshment, Barnaby begged hard for a visit to the Maypole. But his mo- ther, who had no wish to be recognized by any of those who had known her long ajjo, and who feared besides that Mr. Haredale might, on second thoughts, despatch some messenger to that place of entertainment in quest of her, proposed to wait in the churchyard instead. As it was easy for Barnaby to buy and carry thither such humble viands as they required, he cheer- fully assented, and in the churchyard they 6at down to take their frugal dinner.
Here again, the raven was in a highly reflective stale ; walking up and down
when he had dined, with an air of elderly complacency which was strongly sugges- tive of his having his hands under his coat- tails; and appearing to read the tombstones with a very critical taste. Sometimes, after a long inspection of an epitaph, he would strop his beak upon the grave to which it referred, and cry in his hoarse tones, " 1 'ni a devil, I'm a devil, I 'm a devil!" but whether he addressed his observations tc any supposed person below, or merely
j threw them off as a general remark, is
I matter of uncertainty.
[ It was a (juiet pretty spot, but a sad one for Barnaby's mother; for Mr. Reuben Haredale lay there, and near the vault in which his ashes rested, was a stone to the memory of her own husband, with a brief inscription recording how and when he had lost his life. She sat here, thoughtful and apart, until their time was out, and the ilis- tant horn told that the coach was coming. Barnaby, who had been sleeping on the grass, sprung up quickly at the sound ; and Grip, who appeared to understand it equal- ly well, walked into his basket straight- way, entreating society in general (aa though he intended a kind of satire upon them in connexion with churchyards) ne- ver to say die, on any terms. They were
j soon on the coach-top and rolling along the
I road.
It went round by the Maypole, and stop- ped at the door. Joe was from home, and Hugh came sluggishly out to hand up the parcel that it called for. There was no fear
