Of the Gathering of the Shadows

Surprise and something very like disappointment were in Mr. Shrig's
look as Barnabas stepped out from the yawning doorway of the barn.

"V'y, sir," said he, consulting a large-faced watch. "V'y, Mr. Beverley,
it's eggs-actly tventy minutes arter the time for it!"

"Yes," said Barnabas.

"And you--ain't shot, then?"

"No, thank heaven."

"Nor even--vinged?"

"Nor even winged, Mr. Shrig."

"Fate," said Mr. Shrig, shaking a dejected head at him, "Fate is a
werry wexed problem, sir! 'Ere's you now, Number Three, as I might
say, the unfort'nate wictim as was to be--'ere you are a-valking up
to Fate axing to be made a corp', and vot do you get? not so much as
a scrat--not a westige of a scrat, v'ile another unfort'nate wictim
vill run avay from Fate, run? ah! 'eaven's 'ard! and werry nat'ral
too! and vot does 'e get? 'e gets made a corp' afore 'e knows it. No,
sir, Fate's a werry wexed problem, sir, and I don't understand it,
no, nor ever shall."

"But this was very simple," said Barnabas, slipping his hand in
Mr. Shrig's arm, and leading him away from the barn, "very simple
indeed, I got here before they came, and hid in the loft. Then,
while they were waiting for me down below, you came and frightened
them away."

"Ah! So they meant business, did they?"

"Yes," said Barnabas, nodding grimly, "they certainly meant business,
--especially Mr. Chich--"

"Ssh!" said Mr. Shrig, glancing round, "call 'im Number Two. Sir,
Number Two is a extra-special, super-fine, over-weight specimen, 'e
is. I've knowed a many 'Capitals' in my time, but I never knowed
such a Capital o' Capital Coves as 'im. Sir, Vistling Dick vas a
innercent, smiling babe, and young B. is a snowy, pet lamb alongside
o' Number Two. Capital Coves like 'im only 'appen, and they only
'appen every thousand year or so. Ecod! I 'm proud o' Number Two.
And talking of 'im, I 'appened to call on Nick the Cobbler, last
night."