from London, she caught at with avidity. The excitement it produced
was not of a pleasurable kind, for her manner at such times expressed the
keenest anxiety and dread; but it never faded in the least degree. Then, and in
stormy winter nights, when the wind blew loud and strong, the old expression
came into her face, and she would be seized with a fit of trembling, like one
who had an ague. But Barnaby noted little of this; and putting a great
constraint upon herself, she usually recovered her accustomed manner before the
change had caught his observation.
    Grip was by no means an idle or unprofitable member of the humble household.
Partly by dint of Barnaby's tuition, and partly by pursuing a species of
self-instruction common to his tribe, and exerting his powers of observation to
the utmost, he had acquired a degree of sagacity which rendered him famous for
miles round. His conversational powers and surprising performances were the
universal theme: and as many persons came to see the wonderful raven, and none
left his exertions unrewarded - when he condescended to exhibit, which was not
always, for genius is capricious - his earnings formed an important item in the
common stock. Indeed, the bird himself appeared to know his value well; for
though he was perfectly free and unrestrained in the presence of Barnaby and his
mother, he maintained in public an amazing gravity, and never stooped to any
other gratuitous performances than biting the ankles of vagabond boys (an
exercise in which he much delighted), killing a fowl or two occasionally, and
swallowing the dinners of various neighbouring dogs, of whom the boldest held
him in great awe and dread.
    Time had glided on in this way, and nothing had happened to disturb or
change their mode of life, when, one summer's night in June, they were in their
little garden, resting from the labours of the day. The widow's work was yet
upon her knee, and strewn upon the ground about her; and Barnaby stood leaning
on his spade, gazing at the brightness in the west, and singing softly to
himself.
    »A brave evening, mother! If we had, chinking in our pockets, but a few
specks of that gold which is piled up yonder in the sky, we should be rich for
life.«
    »We are better as we are,« returned the widow with a quiet smile. »Let us be
contented, and we do not want and need not care to have it, though it lay
shining at our feet.«
    »Ay!« said