deserted at this early hour, but Barnabas shook his head at himself
reproachfully, and whistled no more--for a time.

But now, having reached the summit of the hill, he paused and turned
to look back. Below him lay the old inn, blinking in its many
casements in the level rays of the newly risen sun; and now, all at
once, as he gazed down at it from this eminence, it seemed, somehow,
to have shrunk, to have grown more weather-beaten and worn--truly
never had it looked so small and mean as it did at this moment.
Indeed, he had been wont to regard the "Coursing Hound" as the very
embodiment of what an English inn should be--but now! Barnabas
sighed--which was a new thing for him. "Was the change really in the
old inn, or in himself?" he wondered. Hereupon he sighed again, and
turning, went on down the hill. But now, as he went, his step lagged
and his head drooped. "Was the change in the inn, or could it be
that money can so quickly alter one?" he wondered. And straightway
the coins in his pocket chinked and jingled "yes, yes!" wherefore
Barnabas sighed for the third time, and his head drooped lower yet.

Well then, since he was rich, he would buy his father a better
inn--the best in all England. A better inn! and the "Coursing Hound"
had been his home as long as he could remember. A better inn! Here
Barnabas sighed for the fourth time, and his step was heavier than
ever as he went on down the hill.




CHAPTER IV